/ 




Class^EH.A44^ 



Book 



A^ 



PRESENTED Wf 



/ 



Maria Edgeworth 

Selections :: :: :: 
from Her Works 



Printed by The 

Educationai< Company 

OF IRKI.AND Limited 

AT The Talbot Press 

Dubinin 





i 

< 

X 
O 

o 
a 

X 
h 



Maria Edgeworth 

Selections from her Works 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

SIR MALCOLM COTTER SETON. 

K.C.B. 



OjCiOOOOOOOOOOo 




iu. 



o o o o o 



NEW YORK: 
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 






J^ 



Printed by The 

Educationai, Company 

OF IRKI.AND Limited 

AT The TAI.BOT Press y 

Dubinin 




Gift 
PubliBher 



m)i d m^ 



PREFACE. 



The purpose of this book is to present a selection from 
Maria Edgeworth's writings about Ireland, and the 
scheme necessitates a mutilation of the four novels 
from which excerpts are taken. But Castle Rackrent 
and The Absentee have been so often reprinted that, 
while it was impossible to neglect them, readers of this 
volume will find their full texts easily accessible. The 
presentation of isolated scenes from Ennui and Ormond 
may be justified on somewhat different grounds : neither 
of these novels, though both contain passages of great 
interest, would appeal to a reader to-day mainly by 
its plot. Reprints of what is really a complete short story 
from the Essay on Irish Bulky and of a letter written in 
1834, complete the selection. The last was not written 
for publication ; it was an account of her tour in Conne- 
mara sent to her brother in India, and it not only afl^ords 
an excellent example of her familiar letters, but gives a 
most graphic picture of life eighty years ago in a part of 
Ireland now the haunt of many visitors, but then unfre- 
quented by tourists and unknown to Government 
Boards. The selection thus attempts to cover all those 
of Miss Edgeworth's productions which were directly 
concerned with Ireland, except Popular Tales and Comic 
Dramas. 

The footnotes to the passages selected are reproduced 
from the original texts : the editorial notes necessitated 
by the omission of passages in the text are printed in 
smaller type on the page. 

The frontispiece is a reproduction of a family group 

iii. 



IV. 



PREFACE. 



in the possession of Mrs. Arthur Butler, a copy of which 
is in the National Gallery of Ireland. This gives the 
only authentic portrait of Maria Edgeworth, except an 
indifferent photograph taken in her old age. It is an odd 
fact that the portraits reproduced in Miss Oliver's and 
Mr. Hare's books are imaginary. 

It is a great pleasure to express to Mrs. Butler my most 
cordial thanks for allowing me to extract the Connemara 
letter from the privately printed memoir which she was 
good enough to lend me, for showing me original manu- 
scripts and unprinted letters of her aunt, and for her 
interest and help in a lecture on Maria Edgeworth that 
I gave some years ago before the Irish Literary Society 
of London, as well as in the introduction to the present 
volume. To Professor Edgeworth, the present head of 
the family, who remembers his aunt as a very old lady, 
I am similarly indebted for very kindly aid and encourage- 
ment. Without their help the Introduction could not 
have taken its present form, but, apart from this, they 
bear no responsibility for anything contained in it. 
Acknowledgment is made in the notes and the list of 
authorities to various books and articles consulted. 
To Mr. Alfred Perceval Graves, the general editor of 
this series, I am, like so many of his fellow-members of 
the Irish Literary Society, indebted for valuable advice. 
I have to thank Mr. J. E. Shuckburgh for most useful 
notes on references to Maria Edgeworth in Byron's 
Diaries and Letters and other writings of the period, while 
Dr. Crone, editor of the Irish Book Lover, has been so 
kind as to procure for me, through the good offices of 
Mr. F. J. Bigger, information on the translation into 
Irish of two of Miss Edgeworth 's tales. 

M. C. C. S. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Introduction vii. 

Selections from *' Castle Rackrent '* i 

" The Hibernian Mendicant/' from " Essay on 

Irish Bulls " 47 

Selections from '* Ennui " : 

First Impressions of Ireland 55 

Estate Management 69 

Lady Geraldine 77 

The Ninety-Eight 92 

The Giants' Causeway and Killarney 100 

Tourists' Impressions 104 

The Plot against Glenthorn 106 

Ellinor O'Donoghoe's Story 119 

The Foster Brothers 128 

The Blacksmith Earl 136 

Selections from ** The Absentee " : 

The Clonbronies in London 138 

Lord Clonbrony and Sir Terence O'Fay .. 145 

Grace Nugent 146 

Sir Terence's Way with Duns 148 

** Ireland ' of all Places " 153 

Dublin after the Union 156 

Lady Dashfort 164 

Count O'Halloran 170 

A Good Land-Agent 180 



V. 



vi. CONTENTS— coniiuued. 

Selections from '* The Absentee " — contimied. 

PAGE 

Larry the Postilion i88 

The Widow O'Neil 201 

At Clonbrony 212 

An Eviction 217 

Clonbrony Castle 221 

The Yellow Damask Furniture 235 

Life in the Army 244 

*' Come Back to Erin " 246 

Selections from '* Ormond '' : 

Good Resolutions 255 

King Corny 265 

Sir Ulick O'Shane at the Black Islands. . . . 272 

Mademoiselle O'Faley and Dora 283 

White Connal 293 

Black Connal 298 

The End of King Corny 305 

A Viceregal Visit 311 

Sir Ulick's Reputation 315 

An Educational Problem 332 

Madame de Connal 343 

Ormond in Paris 347 

Moriarty's Adventures in Prison 354 

The End of Sir Ulick 365 

Extract from Letter to Pakenham Edgeworth, 

1834 374 

List of Miss Edgeworth's Works 413 

List of Authorities 415 



INTRODUCTION 



I. 



It was at one time a commonplace of the politico-literary 
essayist to lament that Ireland has nothing to set beside 
the Waverley Novels ; that, in fact, there has been no 
Irish Walter Scott. The reflection, of course, is marked 
by that degree of truth which makes commonplaces so 
irritating. But it has not been so generally observed 
that most other countries to some extent suffer from the 
same disability. If a visitor from the planet Mars were 
to enquire the name of a single English writer of romance 
from whose pages it would be possible to study the 
national characteristics of the English people ; to acquire, 
half unconsciously, a knowledge of the more picturesque 
and dramatic periods of English history ; to accompany, 
in imagination, John Bull through his various metamor- 
phoses from, let us say, Robin Hood to Sir Robert 
Walpole (the period of Ivanhoe to the period of Waverley), 
the answer would not be easy. A writer may express 
national aspirations, he may depict the local idiosyncrasies 
of a particular place or period, he may revive historical 



Vlll. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

memories ; but he cannot present his own countrymen 
with a microcosm of their common country. It is 
only the stranger that hopes to be spared the trouble of 
research and observation by finding in conveniently 
compressed form a literary spokesman for a whole 
nation. It is convenient for a critic to say that Ibsen 
stands for Norway, but the Norwegian himself may 
prefer to be judged by Bjornsen. Fifty years ago 
most foreigners supposed that Goethe represented 
Germany. Yet to-day we are all complaining that 
Goethe has somehow disappeared and been submerged 
in the insistent and forcible problem furnished by the 
German people, and we begin to suspect that Goethe 
cannot really have summed up all the potentialities of 
German character. 

All that is really meant, then, by a critic who laments 
the absence of an Irish Scott, is either that there is no 
Irish writer of romance who can fairly be compared 
with Scott — a reflection that does not take us much 
further than would the remark that there is no Spanish 
Dante or no Swedish Turgenev — or else that there is 
no Irish writer who has made Irish scenes and themes 
as familiar to the English mind as the subject-matter 
of the Waverley Novels, It is natural that there should 
be sought in stories written in the English language, 
whatever the nationality of the writer, some quality 
which will enable the average English reader to under- 
stand and become interested in the unfamiliar types 
of character presented on the page. So far as the English 



INTRODUCTION IX. 

View of Scotland goes — and it does not go far — Walter 
Scott did that work once for all. A nation that for some 
six centuries had been a troublesome, at times a danger- 
ous, military and political opponent of England, and had, 
since the union of the Crowns, acquired an apparently 
disproportionate share of the good things going in the 
common storehouse, passed, under the hands of the 
Wizard of the North, through a magic crucible, and 
came forth in a garb of chivalry and romance. There is 
to this day in England a sentiment about the Highland 
Regiments of the British Army which is something 
more than recognition of their splendid achievements. 
Although the feeling does not extend, oddly enough, 
to the Lowland Regiments — except in so far as their 
possession of bagpipes causes mental confusion in the 
Southron — it is in great part a legacy from the Lowlander, 
Sir Walter Scott. 

Ireland has no counterpart of this. Yet hear what 
Sir Walter himself wrote in the Postscript to Waverley : 

'* It has been my object to describe those persons, not by a carica- 
tured and exaggerated use of the national dialect, but by their 
habits, manners, and feelings ; so as in some distant degree to 
emulate the admirable Irish portraits drawn by Miss Edgeworth ; 
so different from the * Teagues ' and ' dear joys/ who so long with 
the most perfect family resemblance to each other, occupied the 
drama and the novel." 

This was written in 1814, by which year Maria 
Edgeworth had published all the stories, except Ormond, 
which have been drawn on for the selections given in this 
volume. Waverley^ like Castle Rackrent, was published 



X. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

anonymously, but when it was read aloud in the family 
circle at Edgeworthstown, Mr. Edge worth exclaimed, 
*' Aut Scotus aut Diabolus ! " and his daughter thanked 
the undeclared author in a letter that took his identity 
for granted. 

It was not until 1823 ^^at Maria Edgeworth met Scott, 
after some years of friendly correspondence. Twenty 
years earlier the Edgeworths had visited Edinburgh, 
and seen much of Dugald Stewart, the philosopher, 
and other eminent Scotsmen, but had failed to meet the 
author of Waverley. As Sir Walter said, when his wife 
commented on this, " You forget, my dear. Miss Edge- 
worth was not a lion then ; and my mane was not grown 
at all ! " In his general preface to the Waverley Novels y 
published in 1829, Sir Walter expanded his eulogy : 

'* Without being so presumptuous as to hope to emulate the rich 
humour, pathetic tenderness, and admirable tact, which pervade 
the works of my accomplished friend, I felt that something might 
be attempted for my own country, of the same kind with that which 
Miss Edgeworth so fortunately achieved for Ireland ; something 
which might introduce her natives to those of the sister Kingdom 
in a more favourable light than they had been placed hitherto, 
and tend to produce sympathy for their virtues, and indulgence 
for their foibles." 

In a letter written to Miss Edgeworth in 181 8, he had 
already observed : 

" You have had a merit, transcendent in my eyes, of raising your 
national character in the scale of public estimation, and making the 
rest of the British Empire acquainted with the peculiar and 
interesting character of a people too long neglected and too severely 
oppressed/* 



INTRODUCTION. XI. 

When Scott came to visit Ireland, he records : 

" I never saw a richer country, or, to speak my mind, a finer 
people ; the worst of them is the bitter and envenomed dislike which 
they have to each other." 

(This, of course, was ninety years ago.) The strange 
notion, which has occasionally made its way into print, 
that Ireland has no such romantic incidents in her past 
as to afford a good field for the historical novelist, finds 
some answer (apart from the actual work of Mr. Standish 
O'Grady and other Irish writers) in the fact, noted by 
Mr. O'Donoghue, that Scott himself thought of writing 
a novel on Redmond O'Hanlon, the Rapparee. 

It will be noticed that in the first of these passages 
Scott laid particular stress on the fidelity of Miss Edge- 
worth's drawing of Irish character, and welcomed the 
appearance of her work as an antidote to the caricatures 
already prevalent. Miss Edgeworth, in fact, was hailed 
as an effectual enemy to what would now be called 
** The Stage Irishman " * — a point that should be borne 
in mind by any reader who, without taking the pains 
to study for himself the real conditions of Irish life 
at the end of the eighteenth century, is inclined to assume 
that Miss Edgeworth distorts the figures of her country- 
men. Sir Jonah Barrington, who professed to write 
doVn his real recollections, gives us scenes far more 

* ** The Irishman and the Scot, long familiar as comic figures 
to the novelists of the eighteenth century, who had inherited them 
from the earUer comedy of manners, had never before Miss Bdge- 
worth's time ventured to claim serious treatment at the hands of 
writers of fiction " — Sir Walter Raleigh ; The English Novel, 



Xli. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

extravagant than anything in her pages. The Stage 
Irishman is a figure about which much nonsense is talked 
to-day, partly because Ireland feels that many EngHsh 
people will insist on regarding as typical figures any odd 
individualities presented to their notice, and even on 
basing social and political opinions on notions gathered 
haphazard from the newspaper, the novel, and the stage. 
The point is well illustrated by the intense dislike with 
which the writers of the Young Ireland school regarded 
the works of Charles Lever. Thomas Davis and his 
friends devoted their lives to the attempt to develop all 
that was earnest, patriotic, and, in the best sense, serious 
in the Irish character. Meanwhile Lever was giving a 
wider publicity to all that was odd, rollicking, and devil- 
may-care in Irish life ; the popularity of his novels 
in England was perpetuating a set of ideas about Ireland 
which the Young Irelanders hoped to abolish as being a 
real obstacle to their political aims. Their obvious 
course was to declare, somewhat shrilly, that Lever 
libelled his country, and they took it. But it must be 
remembered that Lever, contending manfully with famine 
fever as a dispensary doctor at Carrigaholt — a far harder 
task than the composition of patriotic leading articles — 
acquired a fairly close acquaintance with the people 
of Clare. Corcabaskin produced few scholar-patriots 
like Eugene O 'Curry, whom Lever would never have 
caricatured. And surely there ought to be room, in 
any healthy community, for the writer of comedies, 
and even farces, as well as for the idealist. Philanthropists 



INTRODUCTION. XUl. 

of our own day who work for the improvement of the 
East End of London do not complain because Mr. W. W. 
Jacobs exhibits the denizens of the Docks in a frivolous 
aspect. And, after all, Young Ireland was bitterly 
conscious that some members of O'Conneirs *' Tail '' 
might have walked out of Lever's pages. Nor do absurd 
situations cease to present themselves merely because 
men take politics seriously ; it was not Charles Lever 
who was responsible for the fact — noted by the Viceroy, 
Lord Clarendon — that the Physical Force Party had to 
be protected by police from the violence of the advocates 
of Moral Suasion. 

None the less, the Stage Irishman does stalk through 
much printed matter — literature we will not call it — 
on Irish subjects : ** his head is bloody but unbowed," 
as Henley would have said, beneath the bludgeonings 
of indignant critics. We all know and loathe the Irish- 
man in a novel who is made to say ** Bejabers ! I would 
be afther bein' kilt " — or the like gibberish. Yet, in our 
protests against an offensive style of caricature, some of 
us lose all sense of proportion. It is, no doubt, a result 
of the political and social history of the country that 
many Irishmen should trouble themselves excessively 
about what English people may think or say of this, 
that, and the other Irish matter. If it were once realised 
that most Englishmen were far too busy earning their 
own living to take much notice of trivial matters on the 
other side of a channel which that famous maritime 
people has dways shown a marked disinclination to cross. 



XIV. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

except on business, and further, that it is simply a symp- 
tom of want of self-respect for a nation to think more 
about its neighbours' possible criticisms than about 
its own work, complaints about the Stage Irishman 
would cease to be what they are to-day, as wearisome 
as the puppet himself. As a weapon in controversy 
the phrase is being blunted by much repetition. Critics 
who have taken exception, rather on political or theo- 
logical than on artistic grounds, to certain features of 
the new Irish School of Drama, have pretended that 
the figures in the plays are " Stage Irishmen." Surely 
a phrase that has become so loose as to blend the whiskey- 
bottle of the London music-halls with the " Shadowy 
Waters " of Mr. Yeats has effectually damned itself 
to every rational mind. It has become little more than 
the literary equivalent of the rotten egg of political 
argument. 

At the same time it is right to scnitinise in an Irish 
novelist the fidelity of his national portraiture, and the 
essential point to mark is that we must ask ourselves 
not whether the Irish characters of fiction or drama 
might possibly cause a person who had never been in 
Ireland to form mistaken views about living Irishmen, 
but whether the author has observed faithfully and 
recorded without dishonesty or malice. This point, 
which it ought to be, but is not, unnecessary to set down, 
is obscured in the case of books about Ireland written 
in English, simply because books are generally written 
in order that they may be read, and in these islands 



INTRODUCTION. XV 

more books are read by English and Scottish than by 
Irish readers. The case of the drama is different, since 
twenty will go to a play at their doors for every half- 
dozen that will read, or for every one that will buy, 
a new book. It has been the experience of most Irish 
prose writers that their main public is to be found in 
England, since it would appear that Irish America, 
though very faithful to old favourites, is not, as a rule, 
very quick to discover new Irish writers. Even authors 
must live, and if Ireland will not support her own authors 
it is a little ungracious, though natural enough, that she 
should chide them for tuning their instruments to a 
foreign pitch. When one comes to think of it, writers 
are not the only figures in modern Irish public life 
who have to some extent depended for their living on 
oversea subscriptions. 

That Irishmen and women should read Irish books, 
new and old, is a proposition that few will deny. They 
do read, or at any rate talk about, books that are imme- 
diately connected with practical issues ; the propagandist 
can count on an Irish public far larger than that of the 
artist. Any man who has lived, as so many Irishmen 
live, with scarcely a break, for many years in his own 
county likes, when he takes up a book for relaxation, 
to read of unfamiliar people and scenes. He is bored 
by a story that simply transfers to the printed page 
incidents and conversations that he can find in real life 
whenever he talks to his neighbours. And his neigh- 
bours' conversation is often far more amusing in real life 



XVI MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

than its reflection could be in print. He is glad to hear 
that someone belonging to his own part of the world 
is making a success in literature, but, if he has no personal 
or family interest in the writer, he is too often content 
to take that success for granted, and regard it with the 
detachment with which he would receive the news that 
a neighbour's son had made a fortune in America or got 
a good appointment in India. It simply does not occur 
to his mind that he himself, just as much as anyone 
living in England, is a member of the public to which 
the writer appeals. Still less does the thought suggest 
itself that the indifference or apathy of hundreds of 
people exactly like himself is a factor in the process that 
tends, generation after generation, to detach the Irish 
writer from that intimate touch with his own folk, that 
reliance upon their sympathy and interest, which is 
needed to keep his work sane, vigorous, and worthy of 
Ireland. 

Miss Edgeworth noted in 1814 that during the last 
thirty years the habit of reading had increased remark- 
ably in Ireland. But in this, as in many other matters, 
the Great Famine set back the hands of the clock. It 
has been truly observed that most large Irish country 
houses possess good libraries of books published 
before the middle of the nineteenth century, to which 
little has been added in later years. Agrarian movements, 
whatever their merits or their justifications, are not 
good for book-lovers. 

As regards old books, books that time has preserved 



INTRODUCTION. X\ U. 

and dignified, it may be hoped that a worthy curiosity 
about the way our ancestors lived and spoke will increase 
steadily. Hazlitt said that whenever a new book 
appeared he read an old one, and this though he kept a 
very sharp eye on his own contemporaries. If every 
educated Irishman would follow his example, the nation 
would gain immeasurably. " God be with the old 
times ! " is a familiar saying which need not prevent 
man from taking an interest in them. And for an intro- 
duction to the everyday life of Ireland at the end of the 
eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century, 
the Ireland of Grattan and Castlereagh, of the Ninety- 
eight and the Union, of Lord Edward Fitzgerald and 
Robert Emmet, of Sheridan and Thomas Moore, it 
would be diffcult to find a more agreeable guide than 
Maria Edgeworth 



XV ill. MARIx\ EDGEWORTH. 

11. 

Maria Edge worth was the second child and eldest 
daughter of Richard Lovell Edge worth, of Edge worths- 
town, in the County Longford, a man of considerable 
note in his day. Her mother, Mr. Edgeworth's first 
wife, was Anna Maria Elers, the daughter of an Oxford- 
shire country gentleman, whose family was of German 
origin, and it was at Black Bourton in that county that 
Maria was born in 1767. She died at Edgeworthstown 
in 1849, her life thus covering a space almost as great 
as that of Fanny Burney (1752-1840). Born when the 
Penal Code was still in vigour, she lived through the 
horrors of the Great Famine. Thus she saw the estab- 
lishment of Grattan's Parliament, the French Revolu- 
tion and the Napoleonic Wars, the Ninety-eight, the 
Union, Catholic Emancipation, the Reform Bill, and the 
movement for Free Trade. In English literature she 
links the period of Dr. Johnson and Burke with that of 
Carlyle, Dickens, and Thackeray. She watched the 
literary careers of Byron, Scott, and Wordsworth — all 
of whom she knew personally. When asked by her 
publishers in 1847 to write new prefaces to her collected 
works she declined, because : 

" As a woman my life, wholly domestic, cannot afford anything 
interesting to the public. I am like the needy knife-grinder — I 
have no story to tell. There is, indeed, one thing I should have 
wished to tell, but that Sir Walter Scott has so much better told 
it for me. I honestly glory in the thought that my name will go 
down to posterity as his friend." 



INTRODUCTION. XlX. 

But the world of letters has not shared her modest 
estimate of the interest of her own Hfe. The privately 
printed Memoir in three volumes, produced by her step- 
mother in 1867, is a quarry in which many industrious 
students have worked. The first detailed account of 
Miss Edgeworth's life given to the public was not pub- 
lished until 1882, when Miss Grace Oliver's Study of 
Maria Edgeworth came from Boston. Next year 
appeared Miss Helen Zimmern's little volume in the 
Eminent Women Series ^2cadm 1894 Mr. Augustus Hare's 
two-volume Life and Letters. Yet it was not until 
fifty-five years after Miss Edgeworth's death that any 
Irish writer produced a monograph on the earliest Irish 
novelist. In 1904 appeared the volume in the English 
Men of Letters series by Miss Emily Lawless. Maria, 
who in Irish Bulls had joined her father in arguing that 
Great Britain is a prolific home of the species, would 
have enjoyed the notion that she was being presented 
to the world by a Scottish publisher as an English Man 
of Letters. Miss Lawless was admirably qualified to 
write of her predecessor, for they had much in common 
besides their nationality. Each in her own day repre- 
sented many of the best qualities of the Irish landed 
gentry. Both were novelists of distinction, and deeply 
interested in many things outside the circle of literary 
topics. And, best of all, each was a woman with a strong 
sense of humour — the point that most, perhaps, impresses 
itself on anyone who has studied Miss Edgeworth's 
familiar letters and had the privilege of meeting Miss 



XX. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Lawkss. Since these two writers approached Irish life 
from very much the same standpoint, so far as family 
circumstances and political prepossessions are concerned, 
it is of real interest to mark the change that a century 
has brought in the view that a cultivated Irishwoman 
is prone to take of her own country's past. In the 
interval the work of archaeologists like Petrie and 
O'Donovan, poets like Sir Samuel Ferguson, Celtic 
students like O' Curry, had disinterred a past Ireland 
that had been as completely hidden from modern eyes 
as were the remains of Troy and Myenae from students 
of Greek before the day of the excavating archaeologist. 
Miss Lawless, when she wrote her historical novels, 
With Essex in Ireland and, still more, Maelcho, was 
instinct with a spirit that did not exist in Miss Edgeworth's 
times. We shall see when we come to Ormond that 
Maria was interested in the Irish Brigade in France, 
as any intelligent and sympathetic observer must be 
interested in events that had deeply concerned his own 
country in his father's lifetime. But she had not the 
power to discern the romantic adventurousness and the 
spiritual bitterness that united to drive the flower of Irish 
CathoUcs to continental battlefields, nor that insight with- 
out which the artistic excellence of Emily Lawless's verse 
would have left With the Wild Geese a cold present- 
ment of dead fires. It was left to a later day to give 
expression to that passionate love of Eire which so many 
of the Gall have learned from the Gael and treasured 
in their hearts, even though their lives may seemingly 



INTRODUCTION. XXI. 

have been spent in prosaic tasks and their judgments 
compelled them to oppose the facile enthusiasms of the 
obviously patriotic. It were unjust to complain that 
Maria Edgeworth did not pass on to the world something 
that she could not herself have known. 

" When Miss Edgeworth wrote," observes Mr. Stephen Gwynn,* 
" she had all about her an Ireland still Irish-speaking, but in which 
the old order and tradition were shattered, an Ireland lying as if in 
paralysis, vegetant rather than alive, and she wrote of the Celtic 
Irish with the keen and not unkindly insight that a good mistress 
possesses into the virtues and foibles of her servants. Once or twice, 
as for instance, M. Ormond, she endeavoured to portray some 
survival of the old Celtic nobiHty, and King Corny is perhaps as 
well represented as he could have been by one who knew nothing 
of the history, language, and literature of his race. . . . For 
all that gave significance and value to the history of the Irish Celt 
she .... cared nothing." 

This is, perhaps, a slightly misleading way of putting 
a patent truth ; for when Miss Edgeworth describes 
an Irish servant or peasant she does not generalise about 
the Celtic race. Her sketch of Count O'Halloran in 
The Absentee, a dignified figure whose quiet humour 
is so effectually contrasted with the foppishness of his 
visitors, stands witness for her ability to understand the 
Catholic gentry of the old stock. As for the peasantry, 
we find neither in her stories nor her letters a trace 
of the contempt with which Dean Swift, for all his 
political Irish patriotism, regarded three-fourths of the 
Irish people. It was not that Miss Edgeworth cared 
nothing ; she had no opportunity of knowing anything 

* To-day and To-morrow in Ireland, 1904. 



XXll. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

of Celtic tradition. Of the politicians and orators who 
made Dublin a brilliant centre before the Union, Flood 
alone seems to have shown any interest in the Irish 
language. Dr. Johnson, in fact, would appear to have 
thought more about the Gaelic language, provided it 
was not the Scottish Gaelic, than did either of his Irish 
friends, Edmund Burke or Oliver Goldsmith. As for 
history, where was a young lady in the reign of George 
III. to find any account of Anglo-Irish relations that 
was not written from the purely English point of view ? 
The Edgeworths had come to Ireland in Tudor times 
(1583), having before that date been settled, according 
to a family tradition which seems trustworthy, at Edg- 
ware, in Middlesex. They thus belonged to what 
Geoffrey Keating called the '' Nua-Gall," the New 
Strangers — as opposed to the " Sean Gall," the Anglo- 
Norman stock to which he himself belonged ; and for 
two stormy centuries their main line stood for Protestant- 
ism and the English connection, though it was a Catholic 
cadet branch of the same family that produced the Abbe 
Edgeworth, who stood by Louis XVI. on the scaffold. 
But it is absurd to represent Maria Edgeworth as con- 
sidering herself an Englishwoman. Her most con- 
temptuous satire, in The Absentee and elsewhere, is 
reserved for Irishwomen who fancied that by pre- 
tending to be English they would improve their social 
standing. 

Her father had been sent as a child to a school in 
England, where he was buUied for his Irish brogue, and 



INTRODUCTION. XXUl. 

was removed to Drogheda School, only to be teased for 
his English accent. He was sent to Trinity, and later 
to Oxford, and read for the Bar in London (like all Irish 
Bar students, down to Daniel O'Connell's time and later). 
He lived for a time in France, where he fell under the 
influence of Rousseau, and attached himself later, before 
coming into the family property, to the literary set at 
Lichfield that paid court to Dr. Darwin, and admired, 
or, at any rate, listened to, the poems of Miss Anna 
Seward.^ Here he made friends with Thomas Day, 
author of Sandford and Merton, whose antipathy to 
feminine authors caused Maria Edgeworth to postpone 
pubHcation of her earliest work until Mr. Day was killed 
by a colt that he was breaking in according to an original 
and humane method. With a strong turn for practical 
mechanics Richard Edgeworth combined a lively 
interest in political philosophy of the Utilitarian school 
founded by Bentham, and in what would nowadays be 
called '' sociology." His daughter's correspondence 
with Ricardo shows that she inherited this interest. Mr. 
Edgeworth was a resident Irish landlord who devoted 
himself to the management of his estate and the material 
improvement of the neighbourhood. " I had always 
thought," he writes in his Memoirs, " that if it were in 
the power of any man to serve the country which gave 
him bread, he ought to sacrifice every inferior considera- 
tion and to reside where he could be most useful." 

* See Mr. ^. V. I^ucas' vivacious study, A Swan and her Friends, 
1907. 



XXIV. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

He made a point of dispensing with the crowd of middle- 
men and sub~agents who compUcated the already tangled 
web of Irish land tenure, with consequences not fully 
realised by their employers' descendants until recent 
years, and he was careful to show equal favour to Catholic 
and Protestant tenants, taking the view that a farmer 
was to be judged rather by his agriculture than by his 
religious profession. From her girlhood his daughter 
Maria was taken completely into his confidence, and 
really acted as his private secretary, thus coming early 
into an intimate knowledge of Irish rural life at first hand. 
Mr. Edgeworth, as a member of the Irish Parliament, 
advocated the Union as desirable, provided that Ireland 
entered as a wiUing partner, but voted against it because 
this essential condition was lacking. The world at large, 
unaccustomed to find a Member of Parliament either 
thinking for himself or acting disinterestedly, made 
merry over the fact that a man should speak for a measure 
and vote against it. 

To her father, whom she always regarded with the most 
whole-hearted devotion, Maria owed a knowledge of 
many practical as well as literary matters that did not 
then often come within a young lady's sphere of interest ,"* 
besides steady encouragement in her literary work. 
They often collaborated, and it has been the universal 
fashion to deplore Mr. Edgeworth 's alleged cramping 

*My friend, Mr. Lionel Curtis, points out an odd anachronism in 
Ormond, where convicts are sentenced to transportation to Botany 
Bay almost a generation before the Australian penal settlement 
was founded. But such a slip is very unusual in Miss Edgeworth 's 
waitings. 



INTRODUCTION. XXV. 

influence over his daughter's pen. But one may take 
leave to doubt whether the general opinion in this matter 
has the merit of being altogether sound. 

It is not quite safe to assume that by comparison of 
Helen, the only imaginative work of note that she com- 
posed after her father's death, pubHshed in 1834, ^^^h 
Belinda (1800), or the much less successful Patronage 
(1815), all three being stories of English society, the 
critic can decide offhand how far Mr. Edgeworth's 
influence impaired his daughter's work. Middle-age 
is often less dogmatic and didactic than youth, more 
content to describe the world than hopeful of reforming 
it. And Miss Edgeworth's was not a mind that stood 
still ; she had read and thought much in the interval. 
An instance of Mr. Edgeworth's justifiable interference 
with his daughter's original drafts is to be found in his 
vetoing the marriage of a village girl with a negro servant 
in Belinda, which his daughter had thoughtlessly designed 
just to round off the finale. The manuscripts of Maria's 
works in the possession of living relatives show that her 
father's corrections often pruned redundant phrases 
and made the writing more direct, while — contrary 
to the accepted notion — he discouraged in her novels 
the didactic tone into which she was inclined to fall. 
It is true that the prefaces which he wrote to her works 
were, to the modern taste, decidedly pompous. But 
few of us are at our best in writing a preface. That Mr. 
Edgeworth could not have attained to the light touch 
of his daughter at her best is shown from the passages 



XXVI. MARIA EDGEWORTH, 

in Ormond known to have been writtea by him. But 
those w^ho maintain that Maria Edgeworth's genius was 
fettered by her father's dictation have never attempted 
to explain two facts very awkward for their theory : 
first, that the volume of his Memoirs that came from his 
own pen is far more racy and vivacious than the second 
volume which she wrote, and, secondly, that Castle 
Rackrenty the most vivid and humorous of her stories, 
passed under his scrutiny, but received no corrections 
from his hand. She is not to be judged, of course, by 
the continuation of the Memoirs, not only written under a 
sense of grief and desolation, but also inspired by a spirit 
of filial piety which the present generation is perhaps 
none the better for being incapable of appreciating. 
But surely his autobiography must be brought in 
evidence before we can dogmatise about his literary 
influence. 

Except for a visit to Edgeworthstown as a small child, 
when the futufe author of so many books about infantile 
virtue acquired a lifelong memory of the delight of 
stamping through a row of cucumber frames laid out 
on the lawn, Maria's early life was spent in England 
with her mother, who died when she was only six. None 
of her biographers except Miss Lawless has perceived 
how unfortunate this was : 

To have had the right, so to speak, to a childhood in an Irish country 
home, and to have been — also, so to speak — defrauded of that 
right ; to have had to spend the chief — it is hardly an exaggeration 
to say the only — years of true impressionability in Great Russell 
Street, in Derby, in lyichfield, and Upper Wimpole Street, seems to 



% 



INTRODUCTION. XXVll. 

me, I will confess, for the early years of an Irish romancer, a state 
of affairs almost too regrettable to contemplate. If now and then, 
even in the best of Miss Edgeworth's books, a certain* sense of 
unreality presents itself ; if now and then a momentary haze of 
falsity seems to float between an Irish reader and the page, it is, 
I think, only fair that we should set down such passing slips largely 
to the fact that she came to the country which she is undertaking 
to describe almost as a grown-up woman. 

Maria was fifteen when the family settled permanently 
at Edgeworthstown in the eventful year 1782, too old 
for the unembarrassed friendship with all neighbours, 
rich and poor, that is the priceless heritage of Irish 
country life. As a child she had little chance of 
absorbing the fairy stories or the folk-lore of her 
country. The young lady of fifteen brought up in 
England could never have the free entry into all 
the cottages around that is aflPectionately remembered 
by those of us who have had the luck to spend 
our early days in Irish country homes. Thus 
she missed not only the freedom of a life in 
which a child could come to no harm — at least until 
motor cars were invented — since everyone is fond of 
children, and torn clothes do not matter in the country, 
but the early playmates of all grades in life given 
in perfection by Ireland. For there good manners 
are a native product of the soil, and the most 
anxious parent need not fear that the most precocious 
child can pick up any contamination. No doubt, 
as Mr. Hare and Miss Zimmern have insisted, 
Maria's powers of observation were quickened by 
the unfamiliarity of the surroundings to which she 



XXvni. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

came in her teens. In interpreting Irish scenes to 
EngUsh readers she could know exactly what would 
appear strange to a visitor. Alike in Ennui and The 
Absentee she brings a young man of Irish blood as a 
stranger to Ireland, and with excellent literary effect. 
But it is only, perhaps, in Castle Rackrent that she 
reaches the certainty of touch which would have come 
so easily to a woman of her gifts wfio had spent her 
childhood in Ireland. And it is interesting to find 
from a letter of 1834 that the original of old Thady 
— the only character in the book drawn directly 
from life — was a steward met when she first came 
to Ireland, whose character and manner of speech 
had thus impressed themselves on her before she was 
grown up 

It is unnecessary here to re-write in detail the story 
of her life, but we may note that Edgeworthstown came 
very near the main stream of the French invasion in 1798. 
Mr. Edge worth had aroused the suspicion of ultra- 
fervid loyalists by admitting CathoUcs to a corps of 
infantry that he raised. Before his men had received 
arms from Government, the approach of Humbert 
and his Irish auxiliaries drove the family to Longford. 
The rebel force did no damage to their home. The 
housekeeper had shown kindness a year before to the wife 
of one of the party. Meanwhile Mr. Edgeworth was 
pelted in Longford by an Orange mob, for, having sat 
by a window reading a newspaper by candle-light, he 
was supposed to be flashing signals to the French. The 



INTRODUCTION. XXIX. 

surrender of Humbert to Cornwallis, at Ballinamuck, 
brought to an end this uncomfortably close glimpse 
of civil war. Maria's letters give a graphic account 
of these events, on which she touched lightly in 
Ennui. 

But the horrors which marked the year in Wexford 
had no counterpart in Longford. Maria in a letter of 
this year made a remark that is not without its application 
in 191 5. ** I am going on in the old way — writing 
stories. I cannot be a captain of dragoons, and sitting 
with my hands before me would not make any of us 
one degree safer." 

In 1802, during the peace of Amiens, the whole family 
visited France,*' and Maria met some of the most interest- 
ing people in Paris — amongst them Madame de Genlis, 
generally supposed to have been the mother of Pamela, 
Lady Edward FitzGerald. Their distant kinship with the 
famous Abbe Edgeworth, of which they were proud, 
exposed them to the suspicion of Napoleon's officials, 
but a timely hint enabled them to leave France just before 
war was renewed. Maria's brother, Lovell, was not so 
fortunate ; arrested in 1803 on his way home from 
Geneva, he remained a detenu in France for the next 
eleven years. In 1820, Maria, with her two sisters, 
re- visited Paris, and her account of the contrasts between 
French society under Napoleon and under the Bourbon 
Restoration is very interesting. At the earlier date 

* Miss Constance Hill, in Maria Edgeworth and her Circle, has 
given an excellent account of her intercourse with French society. 



XXX. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

everyone talked literature, because under Napoleon 
politics was a forbidden topic and espionage was rife. 
But in 1820 tongues were free to argue on politics, and 
full advantage was taken of this. In Miss Edgeworth's 
novel, Helen (published in 1834), ^ French gentleman 
laments the violence of party strife : 

Lady Davenant joined with him in his regrets, and added that 
she feared society in England would soon be brought to the same 
condition. " No/' said the French gentleman, " English ladies 
will never be so vehement as my countrywomen ; they will never 
become, I hope, like some of our lady politicians, qui hurlent comme 
les demons ! " 

It was at Paris in 1802 that a Swedish gentleman of 
distinction, M. Edelcrantz, proposed to Maria, who 
could not resign herself to living in Sweden. But her 
stepmother records that the affair made a deep and 
lasting impression. 

Miss Edgeworth knew her London fairly well, twice 
paid long visits to Edinburgh, then earning the title of 
** The Modern Athens " by the vigour and distinctive- 
ness of its intellectual life, and spent much time in 
country house visits in England and Ireland. Her father 
had many acquaintances, and she notes later on that 
she had friends amongst six distinct London sets, literary, 
political, and so on. The Duchess of Wellington, who 
remained '' always Kitty Pakenham to my friends," 
was a cousin and an old neighbour in Ireland ; we find 
Miss Edgeworth calling on her in London on St. Patrick's 
Day in 181 9 ; ** a plate of shamrocks on the table, and 
as she came forward to meet me she gave a bunch to me, 



INTRODUCTION. XXXI. 

pressing my hand and saying in a low voice, with her 
sweet smile, * Vous en etes digne' ". With the Lans- 
downe family there was a lasting friendship. Thomas 
Moore often mentions Miss Edgeworth (whose father 
he hated), sometimes with a touch of malice, obviously 
due to a momentary fit of vanity or jealousy — he looked 
on Lansdowne House and Bowood rather as his own 
preserves — sometimes with genuine appreciation. Byron 
records that in 1813 Miss Edgeworth and Madame de 
Stael were the lions of the London season, until the 
Czar Alexander appeared. In his diary for 1821 he 
recalls his first meeting with her : 

She was a nice, little, unassuming " Jeanie Deans-looking body,* 
as we Scotch say — and, if not handsome, certainly not ill-looking. 
Her conversation was as quiet as herself. One would never have 
guessed she could write her name ; whereas, her father talked not 
as if he could write nothing else, but as if notliing else was worth 
writing. 

There is no authentic portrait of Maria Edgeworth 
except a family group ; several fancy pictures of her 
have obtained currency, and even appeared as frontis- 
pieces to books about her. One of these she saw, and, 
as she writes, " O ! said the little woman, this is none 
of I ! " In 1835 she was described by Mr. Ticknor,* 
the American Professor, as 

A small, short, spare lady of about 67, with extremely frank and 
kind manners, and who always looks straight into your face with 
a pair of mild, deep, grey eyes whenever she speaks to you. 

Frankness and kindness — an excellent description. 

* G. S. Hillard. Life, Letteys^ and Journals of George J^icknor," 
Boston, 1876. 



XXXll. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Miss Edgeworth's deep affection for her brothers and 
sisters and her other relatives — they were a large circle — 
did not impair her powers of friendship. Modest about 
her own achievements, she was always generous and 
sympathetic to fellow writers such as Lady Morgan 
(Sydney Owenson), and ready to admire good work, 
though intolerant of evil. She knew French thoroughly 
and Italian well. We find her protesting, late in life, 
against the tone of Balzac's novels, and she had no liking 
for Byron. Writing in 1810 (before she had met him) 
she observes characteristically : *' He may have great 
talents, but I am sure he has neither a great nor a good 
mind ; and I feel dislike and disgust for his Lordship." 
This anticipated the verdict of society by several years. 
Well ! We are all very tolerant nowadays, when the 
catch- word ** Art for Art's sake " (or is it " Mud for 
Mud's sake " ?) allows even small talents to cloak the 
absence of greatness or goodness in the mind, and it is 
refreshing to turn to an old-fashioned gentlewoman 
who had the courage of her opinions. But it is not to 
be supposed that Miss Edgeworth in society had any 
priggishness. In her writings, no doubt, she was guided 
by the idea that the pen may be an instrument for making 
the world better ; that if it is the duty of a human being 
to eschew evil and promote good, he is not absolved from 
that duty by the accident that he can write books. But 
the women of her day read far more widely than the 
later Victorian standards approved. The limitations 
of her work are obvious ; her mind was formed before 



INTRODUCTION. XXXUl. 

there was any whisper of the Romantic Movement in 
literature ; passion hardly enters her pages, and choice 
in marriage is guided by prudential considerations — 
a practice not yet altogether obsolete in real life. 

" Ask half the men with whom you are acquainted why they 
married," says Mrs. Broad wood, in ' The Absentee,' " and their 
answer, if they speak truth, will be ' Because I met Miss Such-a-one 
at such a place, and we were continually together.' * Propinquity ! 
— propinquity ! ' as my father used to say ; and he was married 
five times and twice to heiresses." 

Mrs. Broad wood is a rather vulgar English bourgeoise, 
and (though most critics have as regards this passage 
assumed the contrary) is not to be taken as speaking 
Miss Edgeworth's own sentiments. 

The constant writing of books for children had, no 
doubt, its effect on her other work ; a child's story was 
required to have its moral. But she gives a faithful 
and amusing account of society in her own day, and it is 
acknowledged that the one matter in which she clearly 
surpasses Jane Austen is the ease and fidelity of her 
scenes laid in the best political and social circles of the 
time. One would never gather from either lady that 
the country was, when both were writing novels, passing 
through a prolonged period of warfare, still less that the 
national existence was at stake. But daily life, before 
telegraphs, jogged along placidly in war as in peace, 
and the women writers preferred to dwell on less exacting 
themes. ** Edgeworth, Ferrier, Austen,'' writes Scott, 
'* have all given portraits of real society far superior 
to anything man, vain man, has produced of the like 



XXXIV. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

nature." Of these three the Irishwoman had the advan- 
tages of knowing all three countries, as well as France, 
and of having mixed far more in general society than 
either the English or the Scottish writer.* 

But to the world at large Miss Edge worth will, perhaps, 
always remain known as the first successful writer of 
stories for children. Ruskin, in his Ethics of the Dusty 
says of her in this connection : "I can read her 
over and over again, without ever tiring ; there's 
no one whose every page is so full and so delightful ; 
no one who brings you into the company of pleasanter or 
wiser people ; no one who tells you more truly how to 
do right." With the children's books, however, as with 
the works on education,! in which she and her father 
joined forces, we are not here concerned, and it would 
be mere presumption to attempt to add anything to the 
charming descriptions and sympathetic criticism of Lady 
Ritchie. It is appropriate that Thackeray's daughter — 
may one suppose that her Irish mother transmitted 
something of it ? — has shown a more perfect under- 
standing of Maria Edgeworth's personality and writings 
as a whole than any other critic. The novels were 
produced over a period of thirty-four years ; the first. 
Castle Rackrent (1800), had been preceded by Letters 
to Literary Ladies (Miss Edgeworth's first publication) 

* An interesting comparison of the three will be found in The 
Literary History of England, hy Mrs. Oliphant (vol. 3, chap. 6), 
who observes of Miss Kdge worth : " Though she writes with 
genuine love for her country, she comniunic'ates no enthusiasm 
for it." She certainly communicated none to Mrs. OHphant. 

t An interesting criticism on the latter by Mr. James McKenna 
appeared in The Irish School Weekly, January-February, 191 5- 



INTRODUCTION. XXXV. 

and The Parent's Assistant; the last, Helen (1834), 
was followed only by a little tale called Orlandino, written 
in support of Father Mathew's Temperance Movement. 
Belinda, a novel of English society, followed within a few 
months of Castle Rackrent. This and Helen are undoubt- 
edly the best examples of Miss Edgeworth's purely 
English work. They are excellent of their kind, but she 
moves more freely in Ireland. She was not sparing in 
self-criticism. When revising Belinda for a new edition 
she wrote of her heroine : '* I really was so provoked 
with the cold tameness of that stick or stone, Belinda, 
that I could have torn the page in pieces ! As the hackney 
coachman said, ' Mend you ! Better make a new one.' " 
And of Helen she wrote to a kinswoman : 

Can you conceive yourself to be an old lamp at the point of 
extinction, and dreading the smell you would make at going out, 
and the execrations which in your dying flickerings you might 
hear ? And then you can conceive the sudden starting up again 
of the flame when fresh oil is poured into the lamp. And can you 
conceive what that poor lamp would feel returning to light and Hfe ? 
So felt I when I had read your letter on reading what I sent you of 
** Helen." 

It is significant that at this date she found insuper- 
able difficulty in writing another story of Irish life. 

" It is impossible," she says in a letter, " to draw Ireland as she 
now is in a book of fiction — realities are too strong, party passions too 
violent to bear to see, or care to look at, their faces in the looking 
glass. The people would only break the glass, and curse the fool 
who held the mirror up to nature, distorted nature in a fever. We 
are in too perilous a case to laugh, humour would be out of season, 
worse than bad taste." 

Of Patronage — the title of which explains the plot — 



XXXVl. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Byron said to Lady Donegal : ** I thought It very bad 
for heVy' and notes, with odd misunderstanding of Miss 
Edgeworth's character and position, that he was sorry 
for having said so, as he ** thought it possible Lady 
Donegal, being Irish, might be a patroness of Miss 
Edgeworth." But Lord Byron, champion of the Rights 
of Man, never got rid of the idea that there was a deep 
gulf between the peerage and the untitled. The fact 
of political patronage pervaded the time. The able and 
honourable Mr. Devereux in Ennui obtains a good 
appointment in India, for which his own merits fully 
qualified him, only as the result of much wire-pulling 
in Dublin Castle. Nowadays we do not talk about such 
things in quite such a matter-of-fact way, but it is whis- 
pered that they do happen at times. 

Patronage had been preceded by Moral TaleSy Popular 
Tales^ and Fashionable Tales (including Ennui and The 
Absentee). Of the Popular Tales, which dealt with middle- 
class life, and were addressed to middle-class readers 
(who at all times have vastly preferred to read about the 
aristocracy). Miss Lawless observes : *' Whenever 
Ireland, or even a wandering Irishman, steps upon the 
stage, as in * The Limerick Gloves,' they seem to me 
at once to gain in vigour and actuality." Rosanna, intro- 
ducing a tiresomely industrious farmer, a wicked land- 
agent, and a good-natured, slovenly squireen, has touches 
of humour as well as marks of close observation. The 
Essay on Irish Bulky the joint work of father and daughter, 
published in 1802, is very largely a vindication of the 



INTRODUCTION. XXXVIl. 

Irish character from misunderstandings prevalent in 
England, and contains some shrewd observations. The 
Londoner's habit of pronouncing the word '' idea " as 
idear is noted here as in The Absentee, probably the only 
evidence extant that that superfluous final '* r/' which has 
long since ceased to be a monopoly of the uneducated 
in Southern England, but never fails to offend a Scottish 
or Irish ear, is more than a century old. 

The death of Richard Edgeworth in 1817 was the turn- 
ing point of his daughter's life. In the same year she 
published Ortnond, in some respects her best story, and 
Harrington, which, rather oddly, owed its main purpose 
to the protest of an American Jewish lady that Miss 
Edgeworth had in a previous book exhibited Jews 
in an unpleasant Hght. In 1819 she brought out the 
Memoirs of her father, already mentioned, and had the 
strength of mind to refuse to read an offensive ** slating " 
of it in the Quarterly — as ungentlemanly a piece of 
anonymous journalism as the most " yellow " of modern 
newspapers could produce. Thereafter the main events 
of her life were second visits to Paris in 1820, when she 
went on to Geneva and saw the Alps, and to Edinburgh 
(extended to Abbotsford) in 1823, noticed above ; Sir 
Walter Scott's return visit to Edgeworthstown in 1825, ^^ 
which occasion the Edgeworth party went on with their 
guest to Killarney ; and the tour in Connemara in 1833, 
described in the letter printed below. Edgeworthstown, 
the best description of which was written by Mrs. S. C. 
Hall, had become a centre of pilgrimage, and received 



XXXVlll. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

distinguished foreign visitors like the Swiss Marc Auguste 
Pictet, the American George Ticknor, the German J. G. 
Kohl.* Several of Maria's books had been translated 
into French and German. Kohl's account of his visit 
to Edgeworthstown and the neighbourhood in 1843 
is noticeable for his assertion that in Westmeath fifty 
years earlier nothing but Irish had been spoken or 
understood, though by that year many had forgotten it, 
and children were no longer taught it. An old woman 
told him ** There are but very few who can even bless 
themselves in Irish." Two of Miss Edgeworth's stories, 
Rosanna and Forgive and Forget, were published in an 
Irish translation in Belfast in 1833, the translator being 
Thomas Feenaghty, teacher of Irish in Belfast, and the 
publication undertaken by a local Gaelic Society. But 
the translation is pronounced by competent judges 
to have little merit, and it seems improbable that the 
stories reached many Irish speakers. Kohl seems to 
have been misinformed as to the universality of Irish, 
at leafst as the sole language, in the north of Leinster 
at the beginning of the century, for the Edgeworth 
family has found in contemporary letters and estate 
papers no hint that anyone in the neighbourhood was 
unable to speak English. Of course, most country 
districts were far more bi-lingual until long after Miss 
Edgeworth 's death than is usually supposed. But it is 
significant that in her novels we do not find — as we do in 
Scott — any evidence of pure Gaelic speakers. Her 

*J. G. Kohl. Travels in Ireland. I^ondon, 1844. 



INTRODUCTION. XXXIX, 

country-people know the meanings of local place-names, 
and " have the Irish " as regards the names of herbs and 
the like, but they can all speak English. She had every 
opportunity for knowing about such matters, for the 
death of brothers, and consequent family arrange- 
ments, put the Edgeworthstown property entirely in 
her hands for some years. The grim realities of the 
Famine thus not only impressed her as they impressed 
every Irish man or woman with a heart, but found her, 
like the great majority of resident Irish landlords, in the 
fighting line, devoting all her powers to helping the 
distress of her country. ** The fatalism of the econo- 
mists," she said to the late Judge O'Connor Morris,* 
'' will never do in a time like this," and she read to 
her visitors " a letter from Lord John Russell, complimen- 
tary and courteous, but refusing to listen to certain 
projects of relief. * He is true,' she wittily said, * to the 
motto of his house, but Che sara sara is the faith of the 
infidel.' " Lord John Russell was the Prime Minister 
of Great Britain and Ireland, and it is one of the oddest 
ironies of history that the party whose laissez-faire 
principles vetoed every suggestion made in Ireland for 
saving the country in its worst hour of need, has sincerely 
come to imagine that it always befriended the Irish 
people. The last act of Maria Edgeworth in her eighty- 
third year was inspired by hearing of the poor Irish 
porters in New York, who, when American admirers 

* W. G. O'Connor Morris. Memories and Thoughts of a Life. 
1895. 



Xl. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

of her writings subscribed to send supplies to her for 
distribution to the famine-stricken, refused all payment 
for carrying the rice and Indian meal to the ships. 

" She knit with her own hands/* writes Mrs. Bdgeworth, " a 
woollen comforter for each porter, of bright and pretty colours, 
which she sent to a friend to present to the men, who were proud 
and grateful for the gifts ; but, alas ! before they received them 
those kind hands were cold, and that warm heart had ceased to 
beat/' 



INTRODUCTION xli. 



III. 



Miss Edgeworth towards the end of her Hfe wrote to a 
friend a very full description of her methods of literary 
work. She had, hke Jane Austen, the rare faculty of 
being able to write in a library with her family round her. 

** In my whole life, since I began to write, I have had only about 
half-a-dozen little note books, strangely and irregularly kept, 
sometimes with only words of reference to some book or fact I 

could not bring accurately to mind I was averse to 

noting down, because I was conscious that it did better for me 
to keep the things in my head, if they suited my purpose ; and if 
they did not, they would only encumber me.'* 

Her novels w^ere written in little, oblong note-books» 
oddly like cheque-books. 

" In every story (except ' Rackrent ' ) which I ever wrote, I have 
always drawn out .... a sketch, a frame -work ; all these are in 
existence, and I have lately compared many of the printed stories 
with them ; some strangely altered, by-the-way. I have seldom 
or ever drawn any one character — certainly not any ridiculous 
or faulty character — from any individual. 

In fact, as she explains, she meant her characters to 
represent types rather than individuals. Perhaps her 
principal male characters would have been more alive 
than they are but for her determination to avoid personal 
portraits. 

She is one of the writers that mark a striking transition 
in the English novel ; in the hands of Fielding* and 
Smollett it was a literary product that, as the French say, 

* Miss Edgeworth s views on the novels of Fielding and Richardson 
are introduced into Ormond : the hero was at one moment disposed 
to fancy himself an Irish Tom Jones. 



xlii. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" ne peut pas etre mis dans tous les mains." But the 
close of the eighteenth century saw the rise of a reading 
pubHc composed of cultivated women. It is largely to 
this fact, as Miss Zimmern points out, that the sudden 
reformation of the novel is due. The first women- 
novelists, indeed, had not that prudery which marked 
the next literary generation : Miss Edgeworth's little 
story, The Dun, might be reprinted as a Social Purity 
pamphlet. But they preferred to dwell upon all that is 
decent and seemly in human life. 

Her long life gives her a special place in literary history ; 
she was essentially of the eighteenth century, yet we 
find young Edward FitzGerald, friend of Tennyson, 
future translator of Omar Khayyam, visiting Edgeworths- 
town as an undergraduate, and writing genially of his 
hostess, " The Great Maria." On Scott's enthusiastic 
praise we have already dwelt. Miss Mitford wrote of 
her : " She shoots at folly as it flies with the strong 
bolt of ridicule, and seldom misses her aim." Hazlitt, 
however, in his Lectures on the Comic Writers, while 
describing Castle Rackrent as a *' genuine unsophisticated 
national portrait," lashes the " pedantic pragmatical 
commonsense " of the other tales ; Leigh Hunt dis- 
missed her as excessively utilitarian, while Bulwer 
Lytton later on was scornful about the impeccable 
prudence of Miss Edgeworth's young ladies. One 
of the most searching contemporary criticisms is to be 
found in the Edinburgh Review of 1830 — the great quarter- 
lies paid close attention to her novels, and were generally 



INTRODUCTION. xliii. 

most favourable — '' We are seldom furnished with such 
a clew to the character of a person as would enable us 
to judge how he would act under circumstances widely 
different." This criterion, surely, while worth laying 
down, would weigh hardly on all writers of fiction 
except a few of those who belong to the very first rank 
in the world's literature. We may fancy that we know 
how Adam Bede would have comported himself had he 
come into a fortune, or Pendennis had he gone into 
Parliament ; but can we be quite sure that George Eliot 
or Thackeray would have endorsed our views ? Still, 
the comment puts in an extreme form the contention 
that most of Miss Edge worth's characters are not alive 
in the fullest sense. King Corny in Ormond is one of 
the exceptions : Macaulay, in his History of England, 
observed that Miss Edgeworth enabled readers to form 
some notion of what King Corny's great-grandfather 
must have been at the period of the Battle of the Boyne. 
He went so far as to describe the scene in The Absentee 
when Lord Colambre revealed his identity to the tenants 
as " the best thing of the sort since the revelation of 
Ulysses to the Suitors in the Odyssey." Mention of 
this recalls the Killarney boatman who told Macaulay, 
in 1849, that having rowed Sir Walter Scott and Miss 
Edgeworth on the Lakes twenty-four years ago had been 
'' compensation to him for having missed a hanging 
Vvhich took place that very day." Charles Lever* 

* Eklmund Downey. Charles Lever : His Life in his Letters. 
1906. 



Xliv. MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

corresponded with Miss Edgeworth from 1843, when 
he asked leave to dedicate Tom Burke to her, and seems 
to have been guided by her judgment at times. 
He asked her opinion on The O'Donoghue and The Knight 
of Gzvynne, and was dissuaded by her from v/riting a 
novel centred round poUtical intrigue inspired by priests. 
His acknowledgment of her counsel is worth quoting : 
** I do feel that my prejudices might have easily 
led me to father on my priest, evils, social and political, 
which in all likelihood he could never have been answer- 
able for.' 

In all histories of modern EngHsh literature Maria 
Edgeworth finds a place, and it is to be noted that Pro- 
fessor Saintsbury * pronounces her in her novels as well 
as her children's books to have produced ** work which 
wants but a little, if, in some instances, it wants even that, 
to be of the very first class.'' It is not at all certain, in 
fact, that Maria Edgeworth did not actually invent the 
novel of what we now call '* local colour." Scott seems 
to have thought so, and we have the independent testi- 
mony of Turgenev, in some respects the greatest of the 
great Russian novelists, that it was a perusal of Miss 
Edgeworth that suggested to him the studies of Russian 
peasant life that he published under the title of A Sports- 
man's Sketches. 

But her local colour is entirely confined to humanity ; 
she does not describe the Irish landscape, and in this 

* " The Growth of the Later Novel," in The Cambridge History of 
English Literature,** Vol. XI. 191 4. 



INTRODUCTION. xlv. 

respect her contrast with Scott is obvious. She probably 
did not really think, with Dr. Johnson,'*^ that '' a blade 
of grass is always a blade of grass, whether in one country 
or another.'' But she might have said with him, *' Men 
and women are my subjects of enquiry ; let us see how 
these differ from those we have left behind." Lord 
Glenthorn's castle in Ennui is, we are told, on a cliff over 
the sea, but could anyone imagine to himself the scenery 
of the Black Isles from anything that is told to us in 
Ormond? A guide on Loch Lomond complained that 
since the publication of The Lady of the Lake all visitors 
deserted the great lake for ** that stinking hole. Loch 
Katrine ! " Miss Edgeworth never diverted a stream 
of tourists to any place. She enjoyed visiting pictur- 
esque scenes like Killarney, but she does not seem to 
have cared much about Wordsworth's poetry, and she 
really belongs to the mid-eighteenth century in her 
outlook on nature. Nor do remote historical associations 
appeal to her. The letter reprinted in this volume 
shows that she gave herself some trouble to see the ruins 
of Clonmacnois, but has nothing to say about them 
(whereas the town of Galway interests her), and showed 
a typical eighteenth century indifference to the beauty 
of the Connemara Mountains. 

Though one of the few women elected as honorary 
members of the Royal Irish Academy, Miss Edgeworth 
has hardly come by her own in Ireland, perhaps for the 
reasons suggested at the opening of this essay, while as 

* Quoted in Raleigh, The English Novel, p. 214. 



xlvi MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

an English novelist she is overshadowed by Jane Austen, 
a finer artist. It would be idle to claim that in her Irish 
work she had the vigour shown by the Banim brothers 
when at their best, the vein of genuine poetry that throbs 
in Gerald Griffin, or the insight into peasant life possessed 
by William Carleton. The very artlessness of Kickham 
makes Knocknagow 2l truer transcript from life. But 
Ireland is not entirely a nation of peasants, and Miss 
Edgeworth shows us, with a success unmatched save by 
Lever in his best work, the life of the governing class at 
the time of the Union. And here Lever was recon- 
structing where Miss Edgeworth was recording. She 
also tells us a good deal about the rise of that middle 
class which, though its very existence is sometimes 
denied, has, in fact, held Irish political life in its own 
hands for the last thirty years. 

The conditions of Irish life have changed so radically 
that it was not to be expected that anything like a school 
of novelists should have descended from Miss Edgeworth, 
though her influence is to be seen in Annie Keary's 
Castle Daly (1875). As for living writers, in Mr. Shan 
Bullock's The Squireen and other stories of rural Ulster, 
in that masterpiece of ruthless observation, The Real 
Charlotte,^ by the two ladies who are most widely, 
but not most intelligently, known by The Experiences 
of an Irish R.M.^ and in the novels of two Irishwomen 

* In his introduction to Humours of Irish Life in the present series, 
Mr. Charles Graves lent his authority to the view here expressed, 
as did Mr. Shar Bullock in a lecture on Irish novelists some time 
ago at the Irish I^iterary Society. 



INTRODUCTION . xl vii . 

whose work is far too little known in Ireland, Mrs. Field 
and Miss Mary Crosbie, one may perhaps discern 
elements of diverse character that owe something to the 
books of Miss Edgeworth. Some other recent Irish 
writers present nothing but a contrast to her work. Mr. 
Bernard Shaw, for instance, in that otherwise maliciously 
accurate study of certain aspects of modern Ireland, 
John Bull's Other Island, has the effrontery to present 
as a typical family of Irish gentry a household that would 
have appeared in Miss Edgeworth 's pages as an awful 
example of those middlemen or buckeens, for whom her 
sympathy, as Charles Lamb would have put it, was 
imperfect. 

It must not be forgotten that she tried her hand at 
plays, but the '* Comic Dramas " of 1817 are not impor- 
tant, though one of them. Love and Law, a comedy 
in which a matter-of-fact English magistrate is confronted 
by the intricacies of a faction feud among Utigants 
whose character bewilders him as much as their phrase- 
ology puzzles him, contains a touch or two almost in 
Lady Gregory's manner. Still, one can hardly claim 
Maria Edgeworth as a precursor of the Abbey Theatre. 
An earlier play, Whim for Whim, had been offered to 
Sheridan, but declined, and it seems doubtful whether 
any of Maria's dramatic efforts got beyond the sphere 
of private theatricals in the way of actual representation 
on the boards. She seldom succeeded in getting into 
her deliberate work the fun that shines through her 
familiar letters, whether she is comparing the motion of 



xlviii, MARTA EDGFWORTH. 

the Holyhead steamer (first endured by her in 1820) 
to the sensation felt inside a carriage at an inn door 
when a pig is scratching himself against a hind wheel, 
or commenting gravely, '' though she hates scandal,'' 
that the Venus d 'Medici and the Apollo Belvedere 
were both missing together in 1814 from the Louvre. 
** La triste utilite," as Madame de Stael is reported to 
have said, is the quality that most people seem to asso- 
ciate with her work, though the tenderness and pathos 
of some of the stories for children are unsurpassed, while 
the hatred of injustice and oppression, the scorn of 
insincerity, the fearlessness in exposing the besetting 
sins of her own class, the readiness to see the amusing 
side of unpleasant experiences, must strike any reader 
who takes up the best of the novels without preconceived 
ideas. '' The one serious novelist coming from the 
upper classes in Ireland, and the most finished and 
famous produced by any class there, is undoubtedly 
Miss Edgeworth." That is the deliberate verdict of 
Mr. W. B. Yeats. 

M. C. C. SETON. 

April, 19151 



A Selection from the Irish Writings 



OF 



MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



CASTLE RACKRENT. (Abridged.) 

Monday Morning, 

Having, out of friendship for the family, upon whose 
estate, praised be Heaven ! I and mine have Hved rent- 
free, time out of mind, voluntarily undertaken to publish 
the Memoirs of the Rackrent Family, I think it my duty 
to say a few words, in the first place, concerning myself. 
My real name is Thady Quirk, though in the family 
I have always been known by no other than ** honest 
Thady y'' — afterward, in the time of Sir Murtagh, 
deceased, I remember to hear them calling me ** old 
Thady^' and now I'm come to *' poor Thady " ; for I 
wear a long great coat winter and summer, which is very 
handy, as I never put my arms into the sleeves ; they are 



2 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

as good as new, though come Holantide next I've had it 
these seven years ; it holds on by a single button round 
my neck, cloak fashion. To look at me, you would 
hardly think *' poor Thady " was the father of attorney 
Quirk ; he is a high gentleman, and never minds what 
poor Thady says, and having better than fifteen hundred 
a year, landed estate, looks down upon honest Thady ; 
but I wash my hands of his doings, and as I have lived 
so will I die, true and loyal to the family. The family 
of the Rackrents is, I am proud to say, one of the most 
ancient in the kingdom. Everybody knows this is 
not the old family name, which was O'Shaughlin, related 
to the kings of Ireland — but that was before my time. 
My grandfather was driver to the great Sir Patrick 
O'Shaughlin, and I heard him, when I was a boy, teUing 
how the Castle Rackrent estate came to Sir Patrick ; 
Sir Tallyhoo Rackrent was cousin-german to him, and 
had a fine estate of his own, only never a gate upon it, 
it being his maxim that a car was the best gate. Poor 
gentleman ! he lost a fine hunter and his life, at last, 
by it, all in one day's hunt. But I ought to bless that 
day, for the estate came straight into the family, upon one 
condition, which Sir Patrick O'Shaughlin at the time 
took sadly to heart, they say, but thought better of it 
afterwards, seeing how large a stake depended upon it, 
that he should, by Act of Parliament, take and bear the 
surname and arms of Rackrent. 

Now it was that the world was to see what was in Sir 
Patrick. On coming into the estate, he gave the finest 
entertainment ever was heard of in the country ; not a 
man could stand after supper but Sir Patrick himself, 
who could sit out the best man in Ireland, let alone the 
three kingdoms itself. He had his house, from one year's 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 3 

end to another, as full of company as ever it could hold, 
and fuller ; for rather than be left out of the parties 
at Castle Rackrent, many gentlemen, and those men 
of the first consequence and landed estates in the country, 
such as the O'Neills of Ballynagrotty, and the Moneygawls 
of Mount Juliet's Town, and O 'Shannons of New Town 
TuUyhog, made it their choice, often and often, when 
there was no room to be had for love nor money, in long 
winter nights, to sleep in the chicken-house, which Sir 
Patrick had fitted up for the purpose of accommodating 
his friends and the public in general, who honoured 
him with their company unexpectedly at Castle Rackrent ; 
and this went on, I can't tell you how long — the whole 
country rang with his praises ! — ^Long life to him ! Fm 
sure I love to look upon his picture, now opposite to me ; 
though I never saw him, he must have been a portly 
gentleman — his neck something short, and remarkable 
for the largest pimple on his nose, which, by his particular 
desire, is still extant in his picture, said to be a striking 
likeness, though taken when young. He is said also 
to be the inventor of raspberry whiskey, which is very 
likely, as nobody has ever appeared to dispute it with 
him, and as there still exists a broken punch-bowl at 
Castle Rackrent, in the garret, with an inscription to that 
effect — a great curiosity. A few days before his death 
he was very merry ; it being his honour's birth-day, he 
called my grandfather in, God bless him ! to drink the 
company's health, and filled a bumper himself, but could 
not carry it to his head, on account of the great shake 
in his hand ; on this he cast his joke, saying, *' What 
would my poor father say to me if he was to pop out of 
the grave, and see me now ? I remember when I was 
a little boy, the first bumper of claret he gave me after 



4 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

dinner, how he praised me for carrj^ing it so steady 
to my mouth. Here's my thanks to him — a bumper 
toast/' Then he fell to singing the favourite song he 
learned from his father — for the last time, poor gentleman 
— he sung it that night as loud and as hearty as ever 
with a chorus : 

" He that goes to bed, and goes to bed sober. 

Falls as the leaves do, falls as the leaves do, and dies in 

October ; 
But he that goes to bed , and goes to bed mellow, 
lyives as he ought to do, lives as he ought to do, and dies 

an honest fellow.*' 

Sir Patrick died that night ; just as the company rose 
to drink his health with three cheers, he fell down in a 
sort of fit, and was carried off ; they sat it out, and were 
surprised, on inquiry, in the morning, to find that it was 
all over with poor Sir Patrick. Never did any gentleman 
live and die more beloved in the country by rich and poor. 
His funeral was such a one as was never known before 
or since in the county ! All the gentlemen in the three 
counties were at it ; far and near, how they flocked 1 
My great-grandfather said, that to see all the women 
even in their red cloaks, you would have taken them for 
the army drawn out. Then such a fine whillaluh ! you 
might have heard it to the farthest end of the county, 
and happy the man who could get but a sight of the 
hearse ! But who'd have thought it ? — ^just as all was 
going on right, through his own town they were passing, 
when the body was seized for debt — a rescue was appre- 
hended from the mob ; but the heir who attended the 
funeral was against that, for fear of consequences, seeing 
that those villains who came to serve acted under the 
disguise of the law ; so, to be sure, the law must take its 
course, and little gain had the creditors for their pains. 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 5 

First and foremost, they had the curses of the country ; 
and Sir Murtagh Rackrent, the new heir, in the next 
place, on account of this affront to the body, refused to 
pay a shilling of the debts, in which he was countenanced 
by all the best gentlemen of property, and others ot his 
acquaintance ; Sir Murtagh alleging in all companies 
that he all along meant to pay his father's debts of honour, 
but the moment the law was taken of him there was 
an end of honour to be sure. It was whispered (but 
none but the enemies of the family believe it), that this 
was all a sham seizure to get quit of the debts, which he 
had bound himself to pay in honour. 

It's a long time ago, there's no saying how it was, but 
this for certain, the new man did not take at all after the 
old gentleman ; the cellars were never filled after his 
death, and no open house, or anything as it used to be ; 
the tenants even were sent away without their whiskey. 
I was ashamed myself, and knew not what to say for the 
honour of the family ; but I made the best of a bad case, 
and laid it all at my lady's door, for I did not like her 
anyhow, nor anybody else ; she was of the family of the* 
Skinflints, and a widow ; it was a strange match for Sir 
Murtagh ; the people in the country thought he 
demeaned himself greatly, but I said nothing ; I knew 
how it was ; Sir Murtagh was a great lawyer, and looked 
to the great Skinflint estate ; there, however, he overshot 
himself ; for though one of the co-heiresses, he was never 
the better for her, for she outlived him many's the long 
day — he could not see that to be sure when he married 
her. I must say for her, she made him the best of wives, 
being a very notable, stirring woman, and looking close 
to everything. But I always suspected she had Scotch 
blood in her veins ; anything else I could have looked 



MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

over in her from a regard to the family. She was a strict 
observer for self and servants of Lent, and all fast days, 
but not holidays. However, my lady was very charitable 
in her own way. She had a charity school for poor 
children, where they were taught to read and write gratis, 
and where they were kept well to spinning gratis for my 
lady in return ; for she had always heaps of duty yarn 
from the tenants, and got all her household linen out of 
the estate from first to last ; for after the spinning, the 
weavers on the estate took it in hand for nothing, because 
of the looms my lady's interest could get from the Linen 
Board to distribute gratis. Then there was a bleach- yard 
near us, and the tenant dare refuse my lady nothing, 
for fear of a law-suit Sir Murtagh kept hanging over 
him about the water-course. With these ways of manag- 
ing, 'tis surprising how cheap my lady got things done, 
and how proud she was of it. Her table the same way, 
kept for next to nothing ; duty fowls, and duty turkeys, 
and duty geese, came as fast as we could eat 'em, for my 
lady kept a sharp look-out, and knew to a tub of butter 
* everything the tenants had, all round. They knew her 
way, and what with fear of driving for rent and Sir 
Murtagh 's lawsuits, they were kept in such good order, 
they never thought of coming near Castle Rackrent 
without a present of something or other — nothing too 
much or too little for my lady — eggs, honey, butter, 
meal, fish, game, grouse, and herrings, fresh or salt, 
all went for something. As for their young pigs, we had 
them, and the best bacon and hams they could make up, 
with all young chickens in spring ; but they were a set 
of poor wretches, and we had nothing but misfortunes 
with them, always breaking and running away. This, 
Sir Murtagh and my lady said, was all their former 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 7 

landlord Sir Patrick's fault, who let 'em all get the half 
year's rent into arrear ; there was something in that 
to be sure. But Sir Murtagh was as much the contrary 
way ; for let alone making English tenants of them, 
every soul, he was always driving and driving, and pound- 
ing and pounding, and canting and canting, and replevy- 
ing and replevying, and he made a good living of trespass- 
ing cattle ; there was always some tenant's pig, or horse, 
or cow, or calf, or goose, trespassing, which was so great 
a gain to Sir Murtagh, that he did not like to hear me talk 
of repairing fences. Then his heriots and duty- work 
brought him in something, his turf was cut, his potatoes 
set and dug, his hay brought home, and, in short, all the 
work about his house done for nothing ; for in all our 
leases there were strict clauses, heavy with penalties, 
which Sir Murtagh knew well how to enforce ; so many 
days' duty work of man and horse, from every tenant, 
he was to have, and had, every year ; and when a man 
vexed him, why the finest day he could pitch on, when the 
cratur was getting in his own harvest, or thatching his 
cabin. Sir Murtagh made it a principle to call upon him 
and his horse ; so he taught 'em all, as he said, to know 
the law of landlord and tenant. As for law, I believe 
no man, dead or alive, ever loved it so well as Sir Murtagh. 
He had once sixteen suits pending at a time, and I never 
saw him so much himself ; roads, lanes, bogs, wells, 
ponds, eel- wires, orchards, trees, tithes, vagrants, gravel- 
pits, sandpits, dunghills, and nuisances — everything upon 
the face of the earth furnished him good matter for a suit. 
He used to boast that he had a lawsuit for every letter 
in the alphabet. How I used to wonder to see Sir 
Murtagh in the midst of the papers in his office ! Why 
he could hardly turn about for them. I made bold to 



8 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

shrug my shoulders once in his presence, and thanked 
my stars I was not born a gentleman to so much toil 
and trouble ; but Sir Murtagh took me up short with his 
old proverb, '' learning is better than house or land." 
Out of forty-nine suits which he had, he never lost 
o«e but seventeen ; the rest he gained with costs, double 
costs, treble costs sometimes ; but even that did not pay. 
He w^as a very learned man in the law, and had the 
character of it ; but how it was I can't tell, these suits 
that he carried cost him a power of money ; in the end 
he sold some hundreds a year of the family estate ; but 
he was a very learned man in the law, and I know nothing 
of the matter, except having a great regard for the family ; 
and I could not help grieving when he sent me to post 
up notices of the sale of the fee-simple of the lands 
and appurtenances of Timoleague. '* I know, honest 
Thady," says he, to comfort me, *' what I'm about better 
than you do ; Fm only selling to get the ready money 
wanting to carry on my suit with spirit with the Nugents 
of Carrickashaughlin." 

He was very sanguine about that suit with the Nugents 
of Carrickashaughlin. He could have gained it, they say, 
for certain, had it pleased Heaven to have spared him to 
us, and it would have been at the least a plump two- 
thousand a year in his way ; but things were ordered 
otherwise, for the best to be sure. He dug up a fairy- 
mount against my advice, and had no luck afterwards. 
Though a learned man in the law, he was a little too 
incredulous in other matters. I warned him that I 
heard the very Banshee that my grandfather heard under 
Sir Patrick's window a few days before his death. But 
Sir Murtagh thought nothing of the Banshee, nor of his 
cough, with a spitting of blood, brought on, I understand, 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 9 

by catching cold in attending the courts, and overstrain- 
ing his chest with making himself heard in one of his 
favourite causes. He was a great speaker with a powerful 
voice ; but his last speech was not in the courts at all. 
He and my lady, though both of the same way of thinking 
in some things, and though she was as good a wife and 
great economist as you could see, and he the best of hus- 
bands, as to looking into his affairs, and making money 
for his family ; yet I don't know how it was, they had a 
great deal of sparring and jarring between them. My 
lady had her privy purse — and she had her weed ashes, 
and her sealing money upon the signing of all the leases, 
with something to buy gloves besides ; and, besides, 
again often took money from the tenants, if offered 
properly, to speak for them to Sir Murtagh about abate- 
ments and renewals. Now the weed ashes and the glove 
money he allowed her clear perquisites ; though once 
when he saw her in a new gown saved out of the weed 
ashes, he told her to her face (for he could say a sharp 
thing), that she should not put on her weeds before her 
husband's death. But in a dispute about an abatement, 
my lady would have the last word, and Sir Murtagh grew 
mad ; I was within hearing of the door, and now I wish I 
nad made bold to step in. He spoke loud, the whole 
kitchen was out on the stairs. All on a sudden he stopped 
and my lady too. Something has surely happened, 
thought I — and so it was, for Sir Murtagh in his passion 
broke a blood-vessel, and all the law in the land could 
do nothing in that case. My lady sent for five physicians, 
but Sir Murtagh died, and was buried. She had a fine 
jointure settled upon her, and took herself away to the 
great joy of the tenantry. I never said anything one 
way or the other whilst she was part of the family, 



10 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

but got Up to see her go at three o'clock in the morning. 
** It's a fine morning, honest Thady," says she ; '' good- 
bye to ye," and into the carriage she stepped, without a 
word more, good or bad, or even half-a-crown ; but I 
made my bow, and stood to see her safe out of sight 
for the sake of the family. 

Then we were all bustle in the house, which made me 
keep out of the way, for I walk slow and hate a bustle ; 
but the house was all hurry-scurry, preparing for my 
new master. Sir Murtagh, I forgot to notice, had no 
childer ; so the Rackrent estate went to his younger 
brother, a young dashing officer, who came amongst us 
before I knew for the life of me whereabouts I was, 
in a gig or some of them things, with another spark 
along with him, and led horses, and servants,, and dogs, 
and scarce a place to put any Christian of them into ; 
for my late lady had sent all the feather-beds off before 
her, and blankets and household Hnen, down to the very 
knife cloths, on the cars to Dublin, which were all her 
own, lawfully paid for out of her own money. So the 
house was quite bare, and my young master, the moment 
ever he set foot in it out of his gig, thought all those 
things must come of themselves, I believe, for he never 
looked after anything at all, but harum-scarum called 
for everything as if we were conjurers, or he in a public- 
house. For my part, I could not bestir myself anyhow ; 
I had been so much used to my late master and mistress, 
all was upside down with me, and the new servants 
in the servants' hall were quite out of my way ; I had 
nobody to talk to, and if it had not been for my pipe and 
tobacco, should, I verily believe, have broke my heart 
for poor Sir Murtagh. 

But one morning my new master caught a glimpse of 



CASTLE RACKRENT. " 

me as I was looking at his horse's heels, in hopes of a word 
from him. " And is that old Thady ? " says he, as he 
got into his gig ; I loved him from that day to this, 
his voice was so like the family ; and he threw me a guinea 
out of his waistcoat pocket, as he drew up the rems 
with the other hand, his horse rearing too ; I thought 
I never set my eyes on a finer figure of a man, quite 
another sort from Sir Murtagh, though withal, to me, a 
family likeness. A fine life we should have led, had he 
stayed amongst us, God bless him ! He valued a guinea as 
•little as any man ; money to him was no more than dirt, 
and his gentleman and groom, and all belonging to him, 
the same ; but the sporting season over, he grew tired 
of the place, and having got down a great architect for 
the house, and an improver for the grounds, and seen 
their plans and elevations, he fixed a day for settling 
with the tenants, but went off in a whirlwind to town, 
just as some of them came into the yard in the morning. 
A circular letter came next post from the new agent, 
with news that the master was sailed for England, and he 
must remit ^fsoo to Bath for his use before a fortnight 
was at an end ; bad news still for the poor tenants, no 
change still for the better with them. Sir Kit Rackrent, 
my young master, left all to the agent ; and though he 
had the spirit of a prince, and lived away to the honour 
of his country abroad, which I was proud to hear of, 
what were we the better for that at home ? The agent 
was one of your middlemen who grind the face of the 
poor, and can never bear a man with a hat upon his head ; 
he ferreted the tenants out of their lives ; not a week 
without a call for money, drafts upon drafts from Sir Kit ; 
but I laid it all to the fault of the agent ; for, says I, 
what can Sir Kit do with so much cash, and he a single 



12 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

man ? but still it went. Rents must be all paid up to 
the day, and afore ; no allowance for improving tenants, 
no consideration for those who had built upon their 
farms ; no sooner was a lease out, but the land was 
advertised to the highest bidder ; all the old tenants turned 
out, when they spent their substance in the hope and 
trust of a renewal from the landlord. All was now let 
at the highest penny to a parcel of poor wretches, v^^ho 
meant to run away, and did so, after taking two crops 
out of the ground. Then fining down the year's rent 
came into fashion, anything for the ready penny ; and 
with all this, and presents to the agent and the driver, 
there was no such thing as standing it. I said nothing, 
for I had a regard for the family ; but I walked about . 
thinking if his honour Sir Kit knew all this, it would go 
hard with him, but he'd see us righted ; not that I had 
anything for my own share to complain of, for the agent 
was always very civil to me, when he came down into the 
country, and took a great deal of notice of my son Jason. 
Jason Quirk, though he be my son, I must say, was a 
good scholar from his birth, and a very 'cute lad ; I 
thought to make him a priest, but he did better for 
himself ; seeing how he was as good a clerk as any in the 
county, the agent gave him his rent accounts to copy, 
which he did first of all for the pleasure of obliging 
the gentleman, and would take nothing at all for his 
trouble, but was always proud to serve the family. 
By-and-by a good farm bounding us to the east fell into 
his honour's hands, and my son put in a proposal for it ; 
why shouldn't he, as well as another ? The propOGals 
all went over to the master at the Bath, who knowing 
no more of the land than the child unborn, only having 
once b^en out a grousing on it before he went to England ; 



CASTLE RACKRENT. I 3 

and the value of the lands, as the agent informed him, 
falling every year in Ireland, his honour wrote over in all 
haste a bit of a letter, saying he left it all to the agent, 
and that he must let it as w^ell as he could to the best 
bidder, to be sure, and send him over ;C200 by return of 
post ; with this the agent gave me a hint, and I spoke 
a good word for my son, and gave out in the country 
that nobody need bid against us. So his proposal was 
just the thing, and he a good tenant ; and he got a promise 
of an abatement in the rent, after the first year, for 
advancing the half year's rent at signing the lease, which 
was wanting to complete the agent's ;C200 by the return 
of the post, with all which my master wrote back he was 
well satisfied. About this time we learned from the agent 
as a great secret how the money went so fast, and the 
reason of the thick coming of the master's drafts ; he 
was a little too fond of play ; and Bath, they say, was no 
place for a young man of his fortune, where there were 
so many of his own countrymen too hunting him up and 
down, day and night, who had nothing to lose. At last, 
at Christmas, the agent wrote over to stop the drafts, 
for he could raise no more money on bond or mortgage, 
or from the tenants, or anyhow, nor had he any more 
to lend himself, and desired at the same time to decline 
the agency for the future, wishing Sir Kit his health and 
happiness, and the compliments of the season, for I saw^ 
the letter before ever it was sealed, when my son copied it. 
When the answer came, there was a new turn in affairs, 
and the agent was turned out ; and my son Jason, who 
had corresponded privately with his honour occasionally 
on business, was forthwith desired by his honour to take 
the accounts into his own hands, and look them over 
till further orders. It was a very spirited letter to be 



14 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

sure ; Sir Kit sent his service, and the compliments 
of the season, in return to the agent, and he would fight 
him with pleasure to-morrow, or any day, for sending him 
such a letter, if he was born a gentleman, which he was 
sorry (for both their sakes) to find (too late) he was not. 
Then, in a private postcript, he condescended to tell 
us, that all would be speedily settled to his satisfaction, 
and we should turn over a new leaf, for he was going to be 
married in a fortnight to the grandest heiress in England, 
and had only immediate occasion at present for ;f 200, 
as he would not choose to touch his lady's fortune for 
travelling expenses home to Castle Rackrent, where he 
intended to be, wind and weather permitting, early in 
the next month ; and desired fires, and the house to be 
painted, and the new building to go on as fast as possible, 
for the reception of him and his lady before that time ; 
with several words besides in the letter, which we could 
not make out, because, God bless him ! he wrote in such 
a flurry. My heart warmed to my new lady when I read 
this ; I was almost afraid it was too good news to be true ; 
but the girls fell to scouring, and it was well they did, 
for we soon saw his marriage in the paper to a lady 
with I don't know how many tens of thousand pounds 
to her fortune ; then I watched the post-office for his 
landing ; and the news came to my son of his and the 
bride being in DubHn, and on the way home to Castle 
Rackrent. We had bonfires all over the country, expect- 
ing him down the next day, and we had his coming of age 
still to celebrate, which he had not time to do properly 
before he left the country ; therefore, a great ball was 
expected, and great doings upon his coming, as it were, 
fresh to take possession of his ancestor's estate. I never 
shall forget the day he came home ; we had waited and 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 1 5 

waited all day long till eleven o'clock at night, and I was 
thinking of sending the boy to lock the gates, and giving 
them up for that night, when there came the carriages 
thundering up to the great hall door. I got the first 
sight of the bride ; for when the carriage door opened, 
just as she had her foot on the steps, I held the flam 
full in her face to light her, at which she shut her eyes, 
but I had a full view of the rest of her, and greatly shocked 
I was, for by that light she was little better than a blacka- 
moor, and seemed crippled, but that was only sitting so 
long in the chariot. *' You're kindly welcome to Castle 
Rackrent, my lady," says I (recollecting who she was) ; 
*' did your honour hear of the bonfires ? " His honour 
spoke never a word, nor so much as handed her up the 
steps — he looked to me no more like himself than nothing 
at all ; I know I took him for the skeleton of his honour ; 
I was not sure what to say next to one or t'other, but 
seeing she was a stranger in a foreign country, I thought 
it but right to speak cheerful to her, so I went back again 
to the bonfires. '* My lady," says I, as she crossed the 
hall, '* there would have been fifty times as many, but 
for fear of the horses, and frightening your ladyship ; 
Jason and I forbid them, please your honour." With 
that she looked at me a little bewildered. *' Will I have 
a fire lighted in the state-room to night ? " was the next 
question I put to her, but never a word she answered, so I 
concluded she could not speak a word of English, and was 
from foreign parts. The short and the long of it was, 
I couldn't tell Vv^hat to make of her ; so I left her to herself, 
and went straight down to the servants' hall to learn 
something for certain about her. Sir Kit's own man 
was tired, but the groom set him a talking at last, and we 
had it all out before ever I closed my eyes that night. 



l6 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

The bride might well be a great fortune — she was a 
Jewish by all accounts, who are famous for their great 
riches. I had never seen any of that tribe or nation 
before, and could only gather that she spoke a strange 
kind of English of her own, that she could not abide 
pork or sausages, and went neither to church or Mass. 
Mercy upon his honour's poor soul, thought I ; what 
will become of him and his, and all of us, with his heretic 
blackamoor at the head of the Castle Rackrent estate ! 
I never slept a wink all night for thinking of it ; but before 
the servants I put my pipe in my mouth, and kept my 
mind to myself ; for I had a great regard for the family ; 
and after this, when strange gentlemen's servants came 
to the house, and would begin to talk about the bride, 
I took care to put the best foot foremost, and passed 
her for a nabob in the kitchen, which accounted for her 
dark complexion and everything. 

There were no balls, no dinners, no doings ; the 
country was all disappointed — Sir Kit's gentleman said 
in a whisper to me, it was all my lady's own fault, because 
she was so obstinate about the cross. ** What cross ? " 
says I ; " is it about her being a heretic ? " '* Oh, 
no such matter," says he ; '' my master does not mind 
her heresies, but her diamond cross, it's worth I can't 
tell you how much ; and she has thousands of English 
pounds concealed in diamonds about her, which she 
as good as promised to give up to my master before he 
married, but now she won't part with any of them, 
and she must take the consequences." 

Her honey-moon, at least her Irish honey-moon, was 
scarcely well over, when his honour one morning said to 
me, ** Thady, buy me a pig ! " and then the sausages 
were ordered, and here was the first open breaking-out 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 1 7 

of my lady's troubles. My lady came down herself 
into the kitchen to speak to the cook about the sausages, 
and desired never to see them more at her table. Now, 
my master had ordered them, and my lady knew that. 
The cook took my lady's part, because she never came 
down into the kitchen, and was young and innocent in 
housekeeping, which raised her pity ; besides, she said, 
at her own table, surely, my lady should order and dis- 
order what she pleases ; but the cook soon changed her 
note, for my master made it a principle to have the 
sausages, and swore at her for a Jew herself, till he drove 
her fairly out of the kitchen ; then, for fear of her place, 
and because he threatened that my lady should give her 
no discharge without the sausages, she gave up, and from 
that day forward always sausages, or bacon, or pig meat 
in some shape or other, went up to table ; upon which 
my lady shut herself up in her own room, and my master 
said she might stay there, with an oath ; and to make 
sure of her, he turned the key in the door, and kept it 
ever after in his pocket. We none of us ever saw or heard 
her speak for seven years after that ; he carried her 
dinner himself. Then his honour had a great deal of 
company to dine with him, and balls in the house, and 
was as gay and gallant and as much himself as before he 
was married ; and at dinner he always drank my Lady 
Rackrent's good health, and so did the company, and he 
sent out always a servant with his compliments to my 
Lady Rackrent, and the company was drinking her 
ladyship's health, and begged to know if there was any- 
thing at table he might send her ; and the man came back, 
after the sham errand, with my Lady Rackrent's compli- 
ments, and she was very much obliged to Sir Kit — she 
did not wish for anything, but drank the company's 

E. 



1 8 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

health. The country, to be sure, talked and wondered 
at my lady's being shut up, but nobody chose to interfere 
or ask any impertinent questions, for they knew my 
master was a man very apt to give a short answer himself, 
and likely to call a man out for it afterwards ; he was a 
famous shot ; had killed his man before he came of age, 
and nobody scarce dared look at him whilst at Bath. 
Sir Kit's character was so well known in the country 
that he lived in peace and quietness ever after, and 
was a great favourite with the ladies, especially when 
in process of time, in the fifth year of her confinement, 
my Lady Rackrent fell ill, and took entirely to her bed, 
and he gave out that she was now skin and bone, and could 
not last through the winter. In this he had two physi- 
cians' opinions to back him (for now he called in two 
physicians for her), and tried all his arts to get the 
diamond cross from her on her death-bed, and to get her 
to make a will in his favour of her separate possessions ; 
but there she was too tough for him. He used to swear 
at her behind her back, after kneeling to her to her face, 
and call her in the presence of his gentleman his stiff- 
necked Israelite, though before he married her that same 
gentleman told me he used to call her (how he could bring 
it out I don't know) '' my pretty Jessica ! " To be sure, 
it must have been hard for her to guess what sort of a 
husband he reckoned to make her. When she was lying, 
to all expectation, on her death-bed of a broken heart, 
I could not but pity her, though she was a Jewish ; and 
considering, too, it was no fault of hers to be taken with 
my master so young as she was at the Bath, and so fine 
a gentleman as Sir Kit was when he courted her ; and 
considering, too, after all they had heard and seen of him as 
a husband, there were now no less than three ladies in our 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 1 9 

county talked of for his second wife, all at daggers drawn 
with each other, as his gentleman swore, at the balls, for 
Sir Kit for their partner, — I could not but think them 
bewitched ; but they all reasoned with themselves that 
Sir Kit would make a good husband to any Christian 
but a Jewish, I suppose, and especially as he was now a 
reformed rake ; and it was not known how my lady's 
fortune was settled in her will, nor how the Castle 
Rackrent estate was all mortgaged, and bonds out against 
him, for he was never cured of his gaming tricks ; but 
that was the only fault he had, God bless him ! 

My lady had a sort of fit, and it was given out she was 
dead, by mistake ; this brought things to a sad crisis for 
my poor master — one of the three 'ladies showed his 
letters to her brother, and claimed his promises, whilst 
another did the same. I don't mention names. Sir 
Kit, in his defence, said he would meet any man who 
dared to question his conduct, and as to the ladies, they 
must settle it amongst them who was to be his second, 
and his third, and his fourth, whilst his first was still alive, 
to his mortification and theirs. Upon this, as upon all 
former occasions, he had the voice of the country with 
him, on account of the great spirit and propriety he acted 
with. He met and shot the first lady's brother ; the next 
day he called out the second, who had a wooden leg ; 
and their place of meeting by appointment being in a new 
ploughed field, the wooden-leg man stuck fast in it. 
Sir Kit, seeing his situation, with great candour fired 
his pistol over his head ; upon which the seconds inter- 
posed and convinced the parties there had been a slight 
misunderstanding between them ; thereupon they shook 
hands cordially, and went home to dinner together. 
This gentleman, to show the world how they stood 



20 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

together, and by the advice of the friends of both parties, 
to re-estabUsh his sister's injured reputation, went out 
with Sir Kit as his second, and carried his message next 
day to the last of his adversaries ; I never saw him in 
such fine spirits as that day he went out — sure enough 
he was within ames-ace of getting quit handsomely of 
all his enemies ; but, unluckily, after hitting the tooth- 
pick out of his adversary's finger and thumb, he received 
a ball in a vital part, and was brought home, in little 
better than an hour after the affair, speechless on a hand- 
barrow, to my lady. We got the key out of his pocket 
the first thing we did, and my son Jason ran to unlock 
the barrack-room, where my lady had been shut up for 
seven years, to acquaint her with the fatal accident. 
The surprise bereaved her of her senses at first, nor would 
she believe but we were putting some new trick upon her, 
to entrap her out of her jewels, for a great while, till Jason 
bethought himself of taking her to the window, and 
showed her the men bringing Sir Kit up the avenue 
upon the hand-barrow, which had immediately the desired 
eflPect ; for directly she burst into tears, and puUing her 
cross from her bosom, she kissed it with as great devotion 
as ever I witnessed ; and Hfting up her eyes to heaven, 
uttered some ejaculation, which none present heard ; 
but I take the sense of it to be, she returned thanks for 
this unexpected interposition in her favour when she had 
least reason to expect it. My master was greatly 
lamented ; there was no Ufe in him when we lifted him 
off the barrow, so he was laid out immediately, and waked 
the same night. The country was all in an uproar about 
him, and not a soul but cried shame upon his murderer ; 
who would have been hanged surely, if he could have 
been brought to his trial, whilst the gentlemen in the 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 21 

country were up about it ; but he very prudently with- 
drew himself to the continent before the affair was made 
public. As for the young lady who was the immediate 
cause of the fatal accident, however innocently, she could 
never show her head after at the balls in the county 
or any place ; and, by the advice of her friends and 
physicians, she was ordered soon after to Bath, where 
it was expected, if anywhere on this side of the grave, 
she would meet with the recovery of her health and lost 
peace of mind. As a proof of his great popularity, I 
need only add that there was a song made up on my 
master's untimely death in the newspapers, which was 
in everybody's mouth, singing up and down through the 
country, even down to the mountains, only three days 
after his unhappy exit. He was also greatly bemoaned 
at the Curragh, where his cattle were well known ; 
and all who had taken up his bets were particularly 
inconsolable for his loss to society. His stud sold at the 
cant at the greatest price ever known in the county ; 
his favourite horses were chiefly disposed of amongst 
his particular friends, who would give any price for them 
for his sake ; but no ready money was required by the 
new heir, who wished not to displease any or the gentle- 
men of the neighbourhood just upon his coming to settle 
amongst them ; so a long credit was given where requisite, 
and the cash has never been gathered in from that day 
to this. 

But to return to my lady : — She got surprisingly well 
after my master's decease. No sooner w^as it know^n 
for certain that he was dead, than all the gentlemen 
within twenty miles of us came in a body, as it were, 
to set my lady at Hberty, and to protest against her 
confinement, which they now for the first time under- 



22 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Stood was against her own consent. The ladies, too, were 
as attentive as possible, striving w^ho should be foreniost 
with their morning visits ; and they that saw the diamonds 
spoke very handsomely of them, but thought it a pity 
they were not bestowed, if it had so pleased God, upon a 
lady who would have become them better. All these 
civilities wrought little with my lady, for she had taken 
an unaccountable prejudice against the country and 
everything belonging to it, and was so partial to her 
native land, that after parting with the cook, which 
she did immediately upon her master's decease, I neve? 
knew her easy one instant, night or day, but when she 
was packing up to leave us. Had she meant to make any 
stay in Ireland I stood a great chance of being a great 
favourite with her ; for when she found I understood the 
weathercock, she was always finding some pretence 
to be talking to me, and asking me which way the wind 
blew, and was it likely, did I think, to continue fair for 
England. But when I saw she had made up her mind 
to spend the rest of her days upon her own income 
and jewels in England, I considered her quite as a for- 
eigner, and not at all any longer as part of the family. 
She gave no vails to the servants at Castle Rackrent 
at parting, notwithstanding the old proverb o{ '' as rich 
as a Jew,'' which, she being a Jewish, they built upon with 
reason. But from first to last she brought nothing but 
misfortunes amongst us ; and if it had not been all 
along with her, his honour. Sir Kit, would have been now 
alive in all appearance. Her diamond cross was, they say, 
at the bottom of it all ; and it was a shame for her, being 
his wife, not to shovv^ more duty, and to have given it up 
when he condescended to ask so often for such a bit of 
a trifle in his distresses, especially when he all along 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 23 

made it no secret he married for money. But we will 
not bestow another thought upon her. This much I 
thought it lay upon my conscience to say, in justice to 
my poor master's memory. 

'Tis an ill wind that blows nobody no good — the same 
wind that took the Jew Lady Rackrent over to England 
brought over the new heir to Castle Rackrent. 

Here let me pause for breath in my story, for though 
I had a great regard for every member of the family, 
yet without compare Sir Conolly, commonly called, 
for short, amongst his friends. Sir Condy Rackrent, 
was ever my great favourite, and, indeed, the most 
universally beloved man I had ever seen or heard of, 
not excepting his great ancestor Sir Patrick, to whose 
memory he, amongst other instances of generosity, 
erected a handsome marble stone in the church of Castle 
Rackrent, setting forth in large letters his age, birth, 
parentage, and many other virtues, concluding with 
the compliment so justly due, that '* Sir Patrick Rackrent 
lived and died a monument of old Irish hospitaUty." 



24 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

CONTINUATION OF THE AlEMOIRS 

OF THE 

RACKRENT FAMILY. 



HISTORY OF SIR CONOLLY RACKRENT. 

(Abridged.) 

Sir Condy Rackrent, by the grace of God heir-at-law 
to the Castle Rackrent estate, was a remote branch of 
the family ; born to little or no fortune of his own, 
he was bred to the bar ; at which, having many friends 
to push him, and no mean natural abilities of his own, 
he doubtless would, in process of time, if he could have 
borne the drudgery of that study, have been rapidly 
made king's counsel, at the least ; but things were 
disposed of otherwise, and he never went the circuit 
but twice, and then made no figure for want of a fee, 
and being unable to speak in public. He received his 
education chiefly in the college of Dublin ; but before 
he came to years of discretion lived in the country, in 
a small but slated house, within view of the end of the 
avenue. I remember him bare-footed and headed, 
running through the street of O'ShaughHn's town, and 
playing at pitch and toss, ball, marbles, and what not, 
with the boys of the town, amongst whom my son Jason 
was a great favourite with him. As for me, he was ever 
my white-headed boy ; often 's the time when I would 



CASTLE RACKRENT 25 

call in at his father's, where I was always made welcome ; 
he would slip down to me in the kitchen, and love to sit 
on my knee, whilst I told him stories of the family, and 
the blood from which he was sprung, and how he 
might look forward, if the then present man should die 
without childer, to being at the head of the Castle Rack- 
rent estate. This was then spoke quite and clear at 
random to please the child, but it pleased Heaven to 
accomplish my prophecy afterwards, which gave him 
a great opinion of my judgment in business. He went 
to a Httle grammar-school with many others, and my son 
amongst the rest, who was in his class, and not a little 
useful to him in his book-learning, which he acknowledged 
with gratitude ever after. These rudiments of his 
education thus completed, he got a-horseback, to which 
exercise he was ever addicted, and used to gallop over 
the country while yet but a slip of a boy, under the care 
of Sir Kit's huntsman, who was very fond of him, and 
often lent him his gun, and took him out a-shooting 
under his own eye. By these means he became well 
acquainted and popular amongst the poor in the neigh- 
bourhood early ; for there was not a cabin at which 
he had not stopped some morning or other, along with 
the huntsman, to drink a glass of burnt whiskey out 
of an eggshell, to do him good and warm his heart, and 
drive the cold out of his stomach. The old people 
always told him he was a great likeness of Sir Patrick ; 
which made him first have an ambition to take after him, 
as far as his fortune should allow. He left us when of an 
age to enter the college, and there completed his educa- 
tion and nineteenth year ; for as he was not born to an 
estate, his friends thought it incumbent on them to give 
him the best education which could be had for love or 



26 MARIA EDGEWORTH 

money ; and a great deal of money consequently was 
spent upon him at college and Temple. He was a very 
little altered for the worse by what he saw there of the 
great world ; for when he came down into the country, 
to pay us a visit, we thought him just the same man as 
ever, hand and glove with everyone, and as far from high, 
though not without his proper own share of family pride, 
as any man ever you see. Latterly, seeing how Sir Kit 
and the Jewish lived together, and that there was no one 
between him and the Castle Rackrent estate, he neglected 
to apply to the law as much as was expected of him ; and 
secretly many of the tenants, and others, advanced him 
cash upon his note of hand value received, promising 
bargains of leases and lawful interest, should he ever come 
into the estate. All this was kept a great secret, for fear 
the present man, hearing of it, should take it into his head 
to take it ill of poor Condy, and so should cut him off for 
ever, by levying a fine, and suffering a recovery to dock 
the entail. Sir Murtagh would have been the man for 
that ; but Sir Kit was too much taken up philandering 
to consider the law in this case, or any other. These 
practices I have mentioned, to account for the state of 
his affairs, I mean Sir Condy's, upon his coming into 
the Castle Rackrent estate. He could not command a 
penny of his first year's income ; which, and keeping 
no accounts, and the great sight of company he did, 
with many other causes too numerous to mention, was 
the origin of his distresses. My son Jason, who w^as now 
established agent, and knew everything, explained 
matters out of the face to Sir Conolly, and made him 
sensibM of his embarrassed situation. With a great 
nominal rent-roll, it was almost all paid away in interest ; 
which being for convenience suffered to run on, soon 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 27 

doubled the principal, and Sir Condy was obliged to 
pass new bonds for the interest, now grown principal, 
and so on. Whilst this was going on, my son requiring 
to be paid for his trouble, and many years' service in 
the family gratis, and Sir Condy not willing to take his 
affairs into his own hands, or to look them even in the face, 
he gave my son a bargain of some acres, which fell out 
of lease, at a reasonable rent. Jason set the land, as soon 
as his lease was sealed, to under tenants, to make the rent, 
and got two hundred a year profit rent ; which was little 
enough considering his long agency. He bought the 
land at twelve years' purchase two years afterwards, 
when Sir Condy was pushed for money on an execution, 
and was at the same time allowed for his improvements 
thereon. There was a sort of hunting-lodge upon the 
estate convenient to my son Jason's land, which he had 
his eye upon about this time ; and he was a little jealous 
of Sir Condy, who talked of setting it to a stranger, 
who was just come into the country — Captain Moneygawl 
was the man. He was son and heir to the Money gawls of 
Mount Juliet's town, who had a great estate in the next 
county to ours ; and my master was loth to disoblige 
the young gentleman, whose heart was set upon the lodge ; 
so he wrote him back that the lodge was at his service, 
and if he would honour him with his company at Castle 
Rackrent, they could ride over together some morning, 
and look at it, before signing the lease. Accordingly 
the captain came over to see us, and he and Sir Condy 
grew the greatest friends ever you see, and were for ever 
out a-shooting or hunting together, and were very merry 
in the evenings ; and Sir Condy was invited, of course, 
to Mount Juliet's town ; and the family intimacy that 
had been in Sir Patrick's time was now recollected. 



28 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

and nothing would serve Sir Condy but he must be three 
times a week at the least with his new friends, which 
grieved me, who knew, by the captain's groom and 
gentleman, how they talked of him at Mount Juliet's 
town, making him quite, as one may say, a laughing- 
stock and a butt for the whole company ; but they w^ere 
soon cured of that by an accident that surprised 'em 
not a little, as it did me. There was a bit of a scrawl 
found upon the waiting-maid of old Mr. Moneygawl's 
youngest daughter. Miss Isabella, that laid open the 
whole ; and her father, they say, was like one out of his 
right mind, and swore it was the last thing he ever should 
have thought of, when he invited my master to his house, 
that his daughter should think of such a match. But 
their talk signified not a straw, for, as Miss lasbella's 
maid reported, her young mistress was fallen over head 
and ears in love with Sir Condy from the first time 
that ever her brother brought him into the house to 
dinner ; the servant who waited that day behind my 
master's chair was the first who knew it, as he says ; 
though it's hard to believe him, for he did not tell it till 
a great while afterwards ; but, however, it's likely 
enough, as the thing turned out, that he was not far out 
of the way ; for towards the middle of dinner, as he says, 
they were talking of stage-plays, having a play-house, 
and being great play-actors at Mount Juliet's town ; 
and Miss Isabella turns short to my master, and says, 
'' Have you seen the play-bill. Sir Condy ? " " No, 
I have not," said he. ** Then more shame for you," 
said the captain her brother, ** not to know that my 
sister is to play Juliet to-night, who plays it better than 
any woman on or oflF the stage in all Ireland." ** I am 
very happy to hear it," said Sir Condy ; and there the 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 29 

matter dropped for the present. But Sir Condy all this 
time; and a great while afterwards, was at a terrible non- 
plus ; for he had no liking, not he, to stage-plays, nor to 
Miss Isabella either ; to his mind, as it came out over 
a bowl of whiskey-punch at home, his little Judy M' Quirk, 
who was daughter to a sister's son of mine, was worth 
twenty of Miss Isabella. He had seen her often when he 
stopped at her father's cabin to drink whiskey out of 
the egg-shell, out hunting, before he came to the estate, 
and, as she gave out, was under something like a promise 
of marriage to her. Anyhow, I could not but pity my 
poor master, who was so bothered between them, and 
he an easy-hearted man, that could not disoblige nobody, 
God bless him ! To be sure, it was not his place to 
behave ungenerous to Miss Isabella, who had disobliged 
all her relations for his sake, as he remarked ; and then 
she was locked up in her chamber, and forbid to think of 
him any more, which raised his spirit, because his family 
was, as he observed, as good as theirs at any rate, and the 
Rackrents a suitable match for the Moneygawds any day 
in the year ; all which was true enough ; but it grieved 
me to see, that upon the strength of all this, Sir Condy 
was growing more in the mind to carry off Miss Isabella 
to Scotland, in spite of her relations, as she desired. 

** It's all over with our poor Judy ! " said I, with a 
heavy sigh, making bold to speak to him one night 
when he was a little cheerful, and standing in the servants' 
hall all alone with me, as was often his custom. ** Not 
at all," said he ; ** I never was fonder of Judy than at 
this present speaking ; and to prove it to you," said he, 
and he took from my hand a halfpenny, change that I 
had just got along with my tobacco, ** and to prove it to 
you, Thady," says he, '* it's a toss up with me which I 



30 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

should marry this minute, her or Mr. Moneygawl of 
Mount Juliet's town's daughter — so it is." *' Oh, boo ! 
boo ! " says I, making light of it, to see what he would 
go on to next ; '' your honour's joking, to be sure ; 
there's no compare between our poor Judy and Miss 
Isabella, who has a great fortune, they say." ** I'm 
not a man to mind a fortune, nor never was," said Sir 
Condy, proudly, ** whatever her friends may say ; and 
to make short of it," says he, ** I'm come to a determina- 
tion upon the spot " ; with that he swore such a terrible 
oath as made me cross myself ; " and by this book," 
said he, snatching up my ballad book, mistaking it for 
my prayer book, which lay in the window ; ** and by 
this book," says he, ** and by all the books that ever were 
shut and opened, it's come to a toss-up with me, and I'll 
stand or fall by the toss ; and so, Thady, hand me over 
that pin out of the ink-horn," and he makes a cross on 
the smooth side of the halfpenny ; " Judy M* Quirk," 
says he, " her mark." God bless him ! his hand was a 
little unsteadied by all the whiskey punch he had taken, 
but it was plain to see his heart was for poor Judy. My 
heart was all as one as in my mouth when I saw the half- 
penny up in the air, but I said nothing at all ; and when 
it came down, I was glad I had kept myself to myself, 
for to be sure now it was all over with poor Judy. 
" Judy's out a luck," said I, striving to laugh. " I'm 
out a luck," said he ; and I never saw a man look so cast 
down ; he took up the halfpenny off the flag, and walked 
away quite sober-like by the shock. Now, though as 
easy a man, you would think, as any in the wide world, 
there was no such thing as making him unsay one of 
these sort of vows, which he had learned to reverence 
when young, ^s I well remembei: teaching him to toss 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 3I 

up for bog-berries on my knee. So I saw the affair was 
as good as settled between bim and Miss Isabella, and I 
had no more to say but to wish her joy, which I did 
the week afterwards, upon her return from Scotland 
with my poor master. 

My new lady was young, as might be supposed of a 
lady that had been carried off, by her own consent, to 
Scotland ; but I could only see her at first through her 
veil, which, from bashfulness or fashion, she kept over 
her face. " And am I to walk through all this crowd 
of people, my dearest love ? " said she to Sir Condy, 
meaning us servants and tenants, who had gathered 
at the back gate. " My dear," said Sir Condy, *' there's 
nothing for it but to walk, or to let me carry you as far as 
the house, for you see the back road is too narrow for a 
carriage, and the great piers have tumbled down across 
the front approach ; so there's no driving the right way, 
by reason of the ruins." ** Plato, thou reasonest well ! " 
said she, or words to that effect, which I could no ways 
understand ; and again, when her foot stumbled against 
a broken bit of a car- wheel, she cried out, '* Angels and 
ministers of grace, defend us ! " Well, thought I, to be 
sure, if she's no Jewish, like the last, she is a mad woman 
for certain, which is as bad ; it would have been as well 
for my poor master to have taken up with poor Judy, 
who is in her right mind, anyhow. 

My master and my lady set out in great style ; they had 
the finest coach and chariot, and horses and liveries, 
and cut the greatest dash in the county, returning their 
wedding visits ; and it was immediately reported that 
her father had undertaken to pay all my master's debts, 
and, of course, all his tradesmen gave him a new credit, 
and everything went on smack smooth, and I could not 



32 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

but admire my lady's spirit, and was proud to see Castle 
Rackrent again it all its glory. My lady had a fine taste 
for building, and furniture, and playhouses, and she 
turned everything topsy-turvy, and made the barrack- 
room into a theatre, as she called it, and she went on as 
if she had a mint of money at her elbow ; and, to be sure, 
I thought she knew best, especially as Sir Condy said 
nothing to it one way or the other. All he asked, God 
bless him ! was to live in peace and quietness, and have 
his bottle or his whiskey punch at night to himself. 
Now this was little enough, to be sure, for any gentle- 
man ; but my lady couldn't abide the smell of the 
whiskey punch. " My dear," says he, " you liked it 
well enough before we were married, and why not now ? " 
** My dear," said she, *' I never smelt it, or I assure you 
I should never have prevailed upon myself to marry you." 
" My dear, I am sorry you did not smell it ; but we can't 
help that now," returned my master, without putting 
himself in a passion, or going out of his way, but just fair 
and easy helped himself to another glass, and drank it 
oflF to her good health. 

But still my lady sobbed and sobbed, and called herself 
the most wretched of women ; and among other out-of- 
the-way provoking things, asked my master, was he fit 
for company for her, and he drinking all night ? This 
nettling him, which it was hard to do, he replied, that 
as to drinking all night, he was then as sober as she was 
herself, and that it was no matter how much a man drank, 
provided it did no ways affect or stagger him ; that as 
to being fit company for her, he thought himself of a 
family to be fit company for any lord or lady in the land ; 
but that he never prevented her from seeing and keeping 
what company she pleased, and that he had done his best 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 33 

to make Castle Rackrent pleasing to her since her mar- 
riage, having always had the house full of visitors, and if 
her ovs^n relations were not amongst them, he said that wao 
their own fault, and their pride's fault, of which he was 
sorry to find her ladyship had so unbecoming a share. 
So concluding, he took his candle and walked off to his 
room, and my lady was in her tantarums for three days 
after ; and would have been so much longer, no doubt, 
but some of her friends, young ladies, and cousins, 
and second cousins, came to Castle Rackrent, by my poor 
master's express invitation, to see her, and she was in a 
hurry to get up, as Mrs. Jane called it, a play for them, 
and so got well, and was as finely dressed, and as happy 
to look at, as ever ; and all the young ladies, who used to 
be in her room dressing of her, said, in Mrs. Jane's 
hearing, that my lady was the happiest bride ever they 
had seen, and that, to be sure, a love-match was the only 
thing for happiness, where the parties could anyway 
afford it. 

As to affording it, God knows it was little they knew 
of the matter ; my lady's few thousands could not last 
for ever, especially the way she went on with them ; 
and letters from tradesfolk came every post thick and 
threefold with bills as long as my arm, of years' and years' 
standing ; my son Jason had 'em all handed over to him, 
and the pressing letters were all unread by Sir Condy, 
who hated trouble, and could never be brought to hear 
talk of business, but still put it off and put it off, saying 
settle it anyhow, or bid 'em call again to-morrow, or 
speak to me about it some other time. Now it was hard 
to find the right time to speak, for in the mornings 
he was a-bed, and in the evenings over his bottle, 
where no gentleman chooses to be disturbed. Things 



34 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

in a twelve-month or so came to such a pass there was 
no making a shift to go on any longer, though 
we were all of us well enough used to live from hand to 
mouth at Castle Rackrent. One day, I remember, 
when there was a power of company, all sitting after 
dinner in the dusk, not to say dark, in the drawing-room, 
my lady having rung five times for candles, and none 
to go up, the housekeeper sent up the footman, who went 
to my mistress, and whispered behind her chair how it 
was. ** My lady," says he, ** there are no candles in the 
house." ** Bless me," says she ; " then take a horse 
and gallop off as fast as you can to Carrick O 'Fungus, 
and get some." ** And in the meantime tell them to 
step into the playhouse, and try if there are not some bits 
left," added Sir Condy, who happened to be within 
hearing. The man was sent up again to my lady, to 
let her know there was no horse to go, but one that 
wanted a shoe. '* Go to Sir Condy then ; I know 
nothing at all about the horses," said my lady ; *' why 
do you plague me with these things ? " How it was 
settled I really forget, but to the best of my remembrance 
the boy was sent down to my son Jason's to borrow 
candles for the night. Another time in the winter, 
and on a desperate cold day, there was no turf in for the 
parlour and above stairs, and scarce enough for the cook 
in the kitchen ; the little gossoon^ was sent off to the 
neighbours, to see and beg or borrow some, but none 
could he bring back with him for love or money ; so, as 

* Gossoon, a little boy — from the French word gar con. In most 
Irish families there used to be a barefooted gossoon, who was slave 
to the cook and the butler, and who in fact, without wages, did all 
the hard work of the house. Gossoons were always employed as 
messengers. The Editor has known a gossoon to go on foot, without 
shoes or stockings, fifty-one English miles between sunrise and 
sunset. 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 35 

needs must, we were forced to trouble Sir Condy — ** Well, 
and if there's no turf to be had in the town or country, 
why what signifies talking any more about it ; can't 
ye go and cut down a tree ? " ** Which tree, please 
your honour ? " I made bold to say. ** Any tree at all 
that's good to burn," said Sir Condy ; " send off smart 
and get one down, and the fires lighted, before my lady 
gets up to breakfast, or the house will be too hot to hold 
us." He was always very considerate in all things 
about my lady, and she wanted for nothing whilst he had 
it to give. Well, w^hen things were tight with them about 
this time, my son Jason put in a word again about the 
lodge, and made a genteel offer to lay down the purchase- 
money to relieve Sir Condy 's distresses. Now, Sir 
Condy had it from the best authority that there were 
two writs come down to the sheriff against his person, 
and the sheriff, as ill luck would have it, was no friend of 
his, and talked how he must do his duty, and how he 
would do it, if it was against the first man in the country, 
or even his own brother ; let alone one who had voted 
against him at the last election, as Sir Condy had done. 
So Sir Condy was fain to take the purchase-money of 
the lodge from my son Jason to settle matters ; and 
sure enough it was a good bargain for both parties, for 
my son bought the fee-simple of a good house for him 
and his heirs for ever, for little or nothing, and by selling 
of it for that same, my master saved himself from a gaol. 
Every way it turned out fortunate for Sir Condy ; for 
before the money was all gone there came a general 
election, and he being so well beloved in the county, 
and one of the oldest families, no one had a better right 
to stand candidate for the vacancy ; and he was called 
upon by all his friends, and the whole county I may say. 



36 MARIA EDGEWORTH 

to declare himself against the old member, who had little 
thought of a contest. My master did not relish the 
thoughts of a troublesome canvass, and all the ill-will 
he might bring upon himself by disturbing the peace of 
the county, besides the expense, which was no trifle ; 
but all his friends called upon one another to subscribe, 
and they formed themselves into a committee, and wrote 
all his circular letters for him, and engaged all his agents, 
and did all the business unknow^n to him ; and he was well 
pleased that it should be so at last, and my lady herself 
was very sanguine about the election ; and there was open 
house kept night and day at Castle Rackrent, and I thought 
I never saw my lady look so well in her Ufe as she did at 
that time ; there were grand dinners, and all the gentle- 
men drinking success to Sir Condy till they were carried 
off ; and then dances and balls, and the ladies all finishing 
with a raking pot of tea in the morning. Indeed it was 
well the company made it their choice to sit up all nights, 
for there were not half beds enough for the sights of 
people that were in it, though there were shake-downs 
in the drawing-room always made up before sunrise 
for those that liked it. For my part, when I saw the 
doings that were going on, and the loads of claret that 
went down the throats of them that had no right to be 
asking for it, and the sights of meat that went up to table 
and never came down, besides what was carried off 
to one or t'other below stairs, I couldn't but pity my poor 
master, who was to pay for all ; but I said nothing, 
for fear of gaining myself ill-will. The day of election 
will come some time or other, says I to myself, and all 
will be over ; and so it did, and a glorious day it was 
as any I ever had the happiness to see. ** Huzza ! 
huzza ! Sir Condy Rackrent for ever ! " was the first 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 37 

thing I hears in the morning, and the same and nothing 
else all day, and not a soul sober only just when polling, 
enough to give their votes as became em', and to stand 
the browbeating of the lawyers, who came tight enough 
upon us ; and many of our freeholders were knocked 
off, having never a freehold they could safely swear to, 
and Sir Condy was not willing to have any man perjure 
himself for his sake, as was done on the other side, God 
knows ; but no matter for that. Some of our friends 
were dumb-founded by the lawyers asking them : 
Had they ever been upon the ground where their freeholds 
lay ? Now, Sir Condy being tender of the consciences 
of them that had not been on the ground, and so could 
not swear to a freehold when cross-examined by them 
lawyers, sent out for a couple of cleaves-fuU of the sods 
of his farm of Gulteenshinnagh ; and as soon as the sods 
came into town, he set each man upon his sod, and so 
then, ever after, you know, they could fairly swear they 
had been upon the ground. We gained the day by 
this piece of honesty. I thought I should have died 
in the streets for joy when I seed my poor master chaired, 
and he bareheaded, and it raining as hard as it could 
pour ; but all the crowds following him up and down, 
and he bowing and shaking hands with the whole town. 
To go back to the day of the election, which I never 
think of but with pleasure and tears of gratitude for those 
good times ; after the election was quite and clean over, 
there comes shoals of people from all parts, claiming to 
have obUged my master with their votes, and putting 
him in mind of promises which he could never remember 
himself to have made ; one was to have a freehold for 
each of his four sons ; another was to have a renewal of 
a lease ; another an abatement ; one came to be paid 



38 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

ten guineas for a pair of silver buckles sold my master 
on the hustings, which turned out to be no better than 
copper gilt ; another had a long bill for oats, the half of 
which never went into the granary to my certain know- 
ledge, and the other half were not fit for the cattle to 
touch ; but the bargain was made the week before the 
election, and the coach and saddle horses were got into 
order for the day, besides a vote fairly got by them 
oats ; so no more reasoning on that head ; but then there 
was no end to them that were telling Sir Condy he had 
engaged to make their sons excisemen, or high constables, 
or the like ; and as for them that had bills to give in for 
liquor, and beds, and straw, and ribands, and horses, 
and postchaises for the gentlemen freeholders that came 
from all parts and other counties to vote for my master, 
and were not, to be sure, to be at any charges, there was 
no standing against all these ; and worse than all, the 
gentlemen of my master's committee, who managed 
all for him, and talked how they'd bring him in without 
costing him a penny, and subscribed by hundreds very 
genteelly, forgot to pay their subscriptions, and had laid 
out in agents' and lawyers' fees and secret service money 
the Lord knows how much ; and my master could never 
ask one of them for their subscription you are sensible, 
nor for the price of a fine horse he had sold one of them ; 
so it all was left at his door. He could never, God bless 
him again ! I say, bring himself to ask a gentleman for 
money, despising such sort of conversation himself ; 
but others, who were not gentlemen born, behaved very 
uncivil in pressing him at this very time, and all he could 
do to content 'em all was to take himself out of the way 
as fast as possible to DubUn, where my lady had taken 
a house fitting for him as a member of Parliament, to 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 39 

attend his duty in there all the winter. I was very lonely 
when the whole family was gone, and all the things 
they had ordered to go, and forgot, sent after them by 
the car. There was then a great silence in Castle Rack- 
rent, and I went moping from room to room, hearing the 
doors clap for want of right locks, and the wind through 
the broken windows, that the glazier never would come to 
mend, and the rain coming through the roof and best 
ceilings all over the house for want of the slater, whose 
bill was not paid, besides our having no slates or shingles 
for that part of the old building which was shingled and 
burnt when the chimney took fire, and had been open 
to the weather ever since. I took myself to the servants* 
hall in the evening to smoke my pipe as usual, but missed 
the bit of talk we used to have there sadly, and ever after 
was content to stay in the kitchen and boil my little 
potatoes, and put up my bed there ; and every post-day 
I looked in the newspaper, but no news of my master 
in the House ; he never spoke good or bad ; but as the 
butler wrote down word to my son Jason, was very ill 
used by the government about a place that was promised 
him and never given, after his supporting them against 
his conscience very honourably, and being greatly 
abused for it, which hurt him greatly, he having the name 
of a great patriot in the country before. The house and 
living in Dublin, too, were not to be had for nothing, and 
my son Jason said, '' Sir Condy must soon be looking out 
for a new agent, for I've done my part, and can do no 
more. If my lady had the bank of Ireland to spend, 
it would all go in one winter, and Sir Condy would never 
gainsay her, though he does not care the rind of a lemon 
for her all the while." 

Now, I could not bear to hear Jason giving out after this 



40 MARIA EDGEWORTH 

manner against the family, and twenty people standing 
by in the street. Ever since he had lived at the lodge 
of his own, he looked down, howsomever, upon poor old 
Thady, and was grown quite a great gentleman, and had 
none of his relations near him ; no wonder he was no 
kinder to poor Sir Condy than to his own kith or kin. 

Domestic quarrels continued until I^ady Rackrent went back 
to her own people. " My poor master was in great trouble after 
my lady left us. The execution came down, and everything at 
Castle Rackrent was seized by the gripers, and my son Jason, to 
his shame be it spoken, amongst them.'' Jason, havirg got his 
master completely into his power, foreclosed on Castle Rackrent 
and took possession. 

The very next day, being too proud, as he said to me? 
to stay an hour longer in a house that did not belong to 
him, he sets off to the Lodge, and I along with him 
not many hours after. And there was great bemoaning 
through all O'Shaughlin's Town, which I stayed to 
witness, and gave my poor master a full account of when 
I got to the Lodge. He was very low, and in his bed, 
when I got there, and complained of a great pain about 
his heart, but I guessed it was only trouble, and all the 
business, let alone vexation, he had gone through of late ; 
and knowing the nature of him from a boy, I took my 
pipe, and, whilst smoking it by the chimney, began 
telling him how he was beloved and regretted in the 
county, and it did him a deal of good to hear it. " Your 
honour has a great many friends yet, that you don't 
know of, rich and poor, in the county," says I ; ** for 
as I was coming along the road I met two gentlemen 
in their own carriages, who asked after you, knowing 
me, and wanted to know where you was and all about 
you, and even how old I was ; think of that.'' Then he 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 4I 

wakened out of his doze, and began questioning me who 
the gentlemen were. And the next morning it came into 
my head to go, unknown to anybody, with my master's 
compHments, round to many of the gentlemen's houses, 
where he and my lady used to visit, and people that I 
knew were his great friends, and would go to Cork to serve 
him any day in the year, and I made bold to try to 
borrow a trifle of cash from them. They all treated me 
very civil for the most part, and asked a great many 
questions very kind about my lady, and Sir Condy, 
and all the family, and were greatly surprised to learn 
from me Castle Rackrent was sold, and my master at 
the Lodge for health ; and they all pitied him greatly, 
and he had their good wishes, if that would do, but money 
was a thing they unfortunately had not any of them at 
this time to spare. I had my journey for my pains, 
and I, not used to walking, nor supple as formerly, was 
greatly tired, but had the satisfaction of telHng my master, 
when I got to the Lodge, all the civil things said by high 
and low. 

** Thady," says he, '' all you've been telling me brings 
a strange thought into my head ; I've a notion I shall 
not be long for this world anyhow, and I've a great fancy 
to see my own funeral afore I die." I was greatly shocked 
at the first speaking, to hear him speak so light about 
his funeral, and he, to all appearance, in good health, 
but recollecting myself, answered, '' To be sure, it would 
be as fine a sight as one could see, I dared to say, and 
one I should be proud to witness, and I did not doubt 
his honour's would be as great a funeral as ever Sir 
Patrick O'Shaughlin's was, and such a one as that had 
never been known in the county afore or since." But 
I never thought he was in earnest about seeing his own 



42 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

funeral himself, till the next day he returns to it again. 
*' Thady," says he, *' as far as the wake goes, sure I 
might without any great trouble have the satisfaction 
of seeing a bit of my own funeral." '' Well, since your 
honour's honour's so bent upon it," says I, not willing 
to cross him, and he in trouble, " we must see what we 
can do." So he fell into a sort of a sham disorder, 
which was easy done, as he kept his bed, and no 
one to see him ; and I got my shister, who was an old 
woman very handy about the sick, and very skilful, 
to come up to the Lodge to nurse him ; and we gave out, 
she knowing no better, that he was just at his latter end, 
and it answered beyond anything ; and there was a great 
throng of people, men, women, and childer, and there 
being only two rooms at the Lodge, except what was 
locked up full of Jason's furniture and things, the house 
was soon as full and fuller than it could hold, and the heat, 
and smoke, and noise wonderful great ; and standing 
amongst them that were near the bed, but not thinking 
at all of the dead, I was started by the sound of my 
master's voice from under the great coats that had been 
thrown all at top, and I went close up, no one noticing. 
** Thady," says he, *' I've had enough of this ; I'm 
smothering, and can't hear a word of all they're saying 
of the deceased." ** God bless you, and lie still and 
quiet," says I, *' a bit longer, for my shister's afraid 
of ghosts, and would die on the spot with fright, was 
she to see you come to life all on a sudden this way 
without the least preparation." So he lays him still, 
though well-nigh stifled, and I made all haste to tell the 
secret of the joke, whispering to one and t'other, and there 
was a great surprise, but not so great as we had laid out 
it would. " And aren't we to have the pipes and tobacco, 



CASTLE RACKRENT 43 

after coming so far to-night ? '' said some ; but they were 
all well enough pleased when his honour got up to drink 
with them, and sent for more spirits from a shebean- 
house, where they very civilly let him have it upon credit. 
So the night passed off very merrily, but, to my mind, 
Sir Condy was rather upon the sad order in the midst 
of it all, not finding there had been such a great talk 
about himself after his death as he had always expected 
to hear. 

The next morning when the house was cleared of them, 
and none but my shister and myself left in the kitchen 
with Sir Condy, one opens the door, and walks in, and 
who should it be but Judy M* Quirk herself ! I forgot 
to notice that she had been married long since, whilst 
young Captain Moneygawl lived at the Lodge, to the 
captain's huntsman, who after awhilst listed and left her, 
and was killed in the wars. Poor Judy fell off greatly 
in her good looks after her being married a year or two ; 
and being smoke-dried in the cabin, and neglecting 
herself like, it was hard for Sir Condy himself to know 
her again till she spoke ; but when she says, ** It's Judy 
M^Quirk, please your honour, don't you remember her ? " 
" Oh, Judy, is it you ? " says his honour ; ** yes, sure, 
I remember you very well ; but you're greatly altered, 
Judy." ** Sure it's time for me," says she ; '* and I 
think your honour, since I seen you last — but that's a 
great while ago — is altered too." " And with reason, 
Judy," says Sir Condy, fetching a sort of a sigh ; ** but 
how's this, Judy ? " he goes on ; ** I take it a little amiss 
of you, that you were not at my wake last night." '* Ah, 
don't be being jealous of that," says she ; '' I didn't 
hear a sentence of your honour's wake till it was all over, 
or it would have gone hard with me but I would have 



44 MARIA EDGEWORTII. 

been at it sure ; but I was forced to go ten miles up the 
country three days ago to a wedding of a relation of my 
own's, and didn't get home till after the wake was over ; 
but/' says she, *' it won't be so, I hope, the next time, 
please your honour." '' That we shall see, Judy," says 
his honour, *' and may be sooner than you think for, 
for I've been very unwell this while past, and don't 
reckon anyway I'm long for this world." 

There was a great horn at the Lodge, ever since my 
master and Captain Moneygawl was in together, that 
used to belong originally to the celebrated Sir Patrick, 
his ancestor ; and his honour was fond often of telling 
the story that he learned from me when a child, how Sir 
Patrick drank the full of this horn without stopping, 
and this was what no other man afore or since could 
without drawing breath. Now Sir Condy challenged the 
ganger, who seemed to think little of the horn, to swallow 
the contents, and had it filled to the brim with punch ; 
and the ganger said it was what he could not do for 
nothing, but he'd hold Sir Condy a hundred guineas 
he'd do it. ** Done," says my master ; *' I'll lay you a 
hundred golden guineas to a tester you don't." ** Done," 
says the ganger ; and done and done's enough between 
two gentlemen. The ganger was cast, and my master 
won the bet, and thought he'd won a hundred guineas, 
but by the wording it was adjudged to be only a tester 
that was his due by the exciseman. It was all one to him ; 
he was as well pleased, and I was glad to see him in such 
spirits again. 

The ganger, bad luck to him ! was the man that next 
proposed to my master to try himself could he take at 
a draught the contents of the great horn. *' Sir Patrick's 
horn ! " said his honour ; ** hand it to me ; I'll hold 



CASTLE RACKRENT. 45 

you your own bet over again I'll swallow it." " Done '' 
says the ganger ; " I'll lay ye anything at all you do 
no' such thing." "A hundr^^guineas to sixpence 
T Ho " savs he • " bring me the handkerchief. 1 was 
ott'knSg H; meant fhe handkerchief -th t^e^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
it to bring it out in such company, and his honour not 
very ablf to reckon it. " Bring me the handkerchief 
then, Thady," says he, and stamps with hjs foot ^o 
with that I pulls it out of my great ^o^t pocket, where I 
had put it for safety. Oh, how it g^^d "ae to see 
the guineas counting upon the table, ^nd they the la 
my master had! Says Sir Condy to me Y^^"^ ^^J^ ^^ 
steadier than mine to-night, old Thady, and that s a 
wonder -fill you the horn for me." And so, wishmg 
Ts honour suJcess, I did ; but I filled it, little thinking 
o what would befall him. He swallows it down and 
d ops like one shot. We lifts him up, and he was speech- 
less and quite black in the face. We put him to bed. 
and in a Lrt time he wakened, -ing -th^ f-^^^," 
his brain. He was shocking either to see or hear 
"Judy - Judy ! have you no touch of feehng ? won t 
you stly to help us nurse him ? " says I to her, and she 
putting on her shawl to go out « ^he house^ Im 
frightened to see him," says she, 'and wou dn t no 
couldn't stay in it ; and what use ? he can t last till 
the morn ng^'' With that she ran off. There was none 
but my shifter and myself left near him of all the many 
friends he had. The fever came and went, and came 
and went, and lasted five days, and the sixth he was 
lsirf;r a few minutes, and said to me, knowing me 
very well, " I'm in burning pain all withinside of me^ 
Thady " I could not speak, but my shister asked hi^m 
would he have this thing or t'other to do him good ? 



46 MARIA EDGEWORTH 

" No/' says he, ** nothing will do me good no more," 
and he gave a terrible screech with the torture he was in — 
then again a minute's ease — ** brought to this by drink," 
says he ; ** where are all the friends ? — where 's Judy ? — 
Gone, hey ? Ay, Sir Condy has been a fool all his days," 
said he ; and there was the last word he spoke, and died. 
He had but a very poor funeral after all. 



THE HIBERNIAN MENDICANT. 



47 



ESSAY ON IRISH BULLS. 

THE HIBERNIAN MENDICANT. 

Perhaps the reader may wish to see as well as hear the 
petitioner. At first view you might have taken him for a 
Spaniard. He was tall ; and if he had been a gentleman, 
you would have said that there was an air of dignity 
in his figure. He seemed very old, yet he appeared 
more worn by sorrow than by time. Leaning upon 
a thick oaken stick as he took oflF his hat to ask for alms, 
his white hair was blown by the wind. 

** Health and long life to you ! " said he. *' Give 
an old man something to help to bury him. He is past 
his labour, and cannot trouble this world long anyway.'* 

He held his hat towards us, with nothing importunate 
in his manner, but rather with a look of confidence in us, 
mixed with habitual resignation. His thanks were : 
*' Heaven bless you ! — ^Long life and success to you ! 
to you and yours ! and may you never want a friend, 
as I do." 

The last words were spoken low. He laid his hand 
upon his heart as he bowed to us and walked slowly 
away. We called him back ; and upon our questioning 
him farther, he gave the following account of him- 
self :— 

*' I was bred and born — but no matter where such 
a one as I was bred and born, no more than where I may 
die and be buried. /, that have neither son, nor daughter. 



48 MARIA EDGEWORTH 

nor kin, nor friend on the wide earth to mourn over my 
grave when I am laid in it, as I soon must. Well ! 
when it pleases God to take me, I shall never be missed 
out of this world, so much as by a dog ; and why should 
I ? — having never in my time done good to any — but 
evil — which I have lived to repent me of, many's the 
long day and night, and ever shall whilst I have sense 
and reason left. In my youthful days God was too good 
to me ; I had friends, and a little home of my own to go to 
— a pretty spot of land for a farm as you could see, with 
a snug cabin, and everything complete, and all to be mine ; 
for I was the only one my father and mother had, and 
accordingly was made much of, too much ; for I grew 
headstrong upon it, and high, and thought nothing of 
any man, and Httle of any woman, but one. That one 
I surely did think of ; and well worth thinking of she was. 
Beauty, they say, is all fancy ; but she was a girl every 
man might fancy. Never was one more sought after. 
She was then just in her prime, and full of life and spirits ; 
but nothing light in her behaviour — quite modest — yet 
obliging. She was too good for me to be thinking of, 
no doubt ; but * faint heart never won fair lady,' so I 
made bold to speak to Rose, for that was her name, and 
after a world of pains, I began to gain upon her good 
liking, but couldn't get her to say more than that she 
never seen the man she would fancy so well. This was 
a great deal from her, for she was coy and proud-like, 
as she had a good right to be ; and, besides being young, 
loved her little innocent pleasure, and could not easy 
be brought to give up her sway. No fault of hers ; but 
all very natural. Well ! I always considered she never 
would have held out so long, nor have been so stiff with 
me, had it not been for an old aunt Honour of hers — 



THE HIBERNIAN MENDICANT. 49 

God rest her soul ! One should not be talking ill of the 
dead ; but she was more out of my way than enough ; 
yet the cratur had no malice in her against me, only 
meaning her child's good, as she called it, but mistook it, 
and thought to make Rose happy by some greater match 
than me, counting her fondness for me, which she 
could not but see something of, childishness, that she 
would soon be broke of. Now, there was a party of Eng- 
lish soldiers quartered in our town, and there was a 
sergeant amongst them that had money, and a pretty 
place, as they said, in his own country. He courted 
Rose, and the aunt favoured him. He and I could 
never relish one another at all. He was a hand- 
some portly man, but very proud, and looked upon 
me as dirt under his feet, because I was an Irishman ; 
and at every word would say, * That's an Irish bull ! ' 
or ' Do you hear Paddy's brogue ? ' at which his fellow- 
soldiers, being all Enghsh, would look greatly delighted. 
Now all this I could have taken in good part from any 
but him, for I was not an ill-humoured fellow ; but there 
was a spite in him I plainly saw against me, and I could 
not nor would not take a word from him against me or 
my country, especially when Rose was by, who did 
not like me the worse for having a proper spirit. She 
little thought what would come of it. Whilst all this was 
going on, her aunt Honour found to object against me, 
that I was wild, and given to drink ; both which charges 
were false and malicious, and I knew could come from 
none other than the sergeant, which enraged me the more 
against him for speaking so mean behind my back. Now 
I knew that, though the sergeant did not drink spirits, 
he drank plenty of beer. Rose took it, however, to heart, 
and talked very serious upon it, observing she could 



50 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

never think to marry a man given to drink, and that the 
sergeant was remarkably sober and staid ; therefore, 
most Uke, as her aunt Honour said, to make a good 
husband. The words went straight to my heart, along 
with Rose's look. I said not a word, but went out, 
resolving, before I slept, to take an oath against spirits, 
of all sorts, for Rose's sake sweet. That evening I fell 
in with some boys of the neighbours, who would have 
had me along with them, but I denied myself and them ; 
and all I would taste was one parting glass, and then 
made my vow in the presence of the priest, forswearing 
spirits for two years. Then I went straight to her house 
to tell her what I had done, not being sensible that I was 
that same time a little elevated with the parting glass 
I had taken. The first thing I noticed on going into the 
room was the man I least wished to see there, and least 
looked for at this minute ; he was in high talk with the 
aunt, and Rose sitting on the other side of him, no way 
strange towards him, as I fancied ; but that was only 
fancy, and effect of the Uquor I had drunk, which made 
me see things wrong. I went up, and put my head 
between them, asking Rose did she know what I had 
been about ? 

" * Yes ; too well ! ' said she, drawing back from my 
breath. And the aunt looked at her, and she at the aunt, 
and the sergeant stopped his nose, saying he had not been 
long enough in Ireland to love the smell of whiskey. 
I observed, that was an uncivil remark in the present 
company, and added that I had not taken a drop that 
night, but one glass. At which he sneered, and said 
that was a bull and a blunder, but no wonder, as I was 
an Irishman. I replied in defence of myself and country. 
We went on from one smart word to another ; and some 



THE HIBERNIAN MENDICANT. 5I 

of his soldiermen being of the company, he had the laugh 
against nae still. I was vexed to see Rose bear so well 
what I could not bear myself. And the talk grew higher 
and higher ; and from talking of blunders and such 
trifles, we got, I cannot myself tell you how, on to great 
party matters, and poHtics, and religion. And I was a 
Catholic, and he a Protestant ; and there he had the 
thing still against me. The company seeing matters 
not agreeable, dropped off till none were left but the 
sergeant, and the aunt, and Rose, and myself. The aunt 
gave me a hint to part, but I would not take it ; for I 
could not bear to go away worsted, and borne down 
as it were by the English faction, and Rose by to judge. 
The aunt was called out by one who wanted her to go 
to a funeral next day ; the Englishman then let fall 
something about our Irish howl, and savages, which Rose 
herself said was uncivil, she being an Irishwoman, which 
he, thinking only of making game on me, had forgot. 
I knocked him down, telling him that it was he that was 
the savage to affront a lady. As he got up he said that 
he'd have the law of me, if any law was to be had in 
Ireland. 

** * The law ! ' said I, * and you a soldier ! ' 

Do you mean to call me a coward ? ' said he. 
' This is what an English soldier must not bear.' With 
that he snatches at his arms that were beside him, 
asking me again did I mean to call an Englishman 
coward ? 

** ' Tell me first,' said I, * did you mean to call us Irish 
savages ? ' 

That's no answer to my question,' says he, ' or 
only an Irish answer.' 

" ' It is not worse for that, may be,' says I, very coolly, 



52 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

despising the man now, and just took up a knife, that was 
on the table, to cut off a button that was hanging at my 
knee. As I was opening of the knife he asks me was I 
going to stab at him with my Irish knife, and directly 
fixes a bayonet at me ; on which I seizes a musket 
and bayonet one of his men had left, telHng him I knew 
the use of it as well as he or any Englishman, and better ; 
for that I should never have gone, as he did, to charge 
it against an unarmed man. 

*' * You had your knife,' said he, drawing back. 

" * If I had, it was not thinking of you,' said I, throwing 
the knife away. * See ! Fm armed like yourself now ; 
fight me like a man and a soldier, if you dare,' says I. 
Fight me, if you dare,' says he. 

** Rose calls to me to stop ; but we were both out of 
ourselves at the minute. We thrust at each other — he 
missed me — I hit him. Rose ran in between us to get 
the musket from my hand ; it was loaded, and went off 
in the struggle, and the ball lodged in her body. She 
fell ! and what happened next I cannot tell, for the sight 
left my eyes, and all sense forsook me. When I came 
to myself the house was full of people, going to and fro, 
some whispering, some crying ; and till the words 
reached my ears, ' Is she quite dead } ' I could not under- 
stand where I was, or what had happened. I wished to 
forget again, but could not. The whole truth came upon 
me, and yet I could not shed a tear ; but just pushed 
my w^ay through the crowd into the inner room, and up 
to the side of the bed. There she lay stretched, almost 
a corpse — quite still ! Her sweet eyes closed, and no 
colour in her cheeks, that had been so rosy ! I took hold 
of one of her hands, that hung down, and she then 
opens her eyes, and knew me directly, and smiles upon 



THE HIBERNIAN MENDICANT. 53 

me, and says, ' It was no fault of yours ; take notice 
all of you, it was no fault of his if I die ; but that I won't 
do for his sake, if I can help it ! ' — that was the word she 
spoke. I thinking, from her speaking so strong, that she 
was not badly hurt, knelt down to whisper her, that 
if my breath did smell of spirits, it was the parting glass 
I had tasted before making the vow I had done against 
drink for her sake ; and that there was nothing I would 
not do for her, if it would please God to spare her to me. 
She just pressed my hand, to show me she was sensible. 
The priest came in, and they forced our hands asunder, 
and carried me away out of the room. Presently there 
was a great cry, and I knew all was over.*' 

Here the old man's voice failed, and he turned his face 
from us. When he had somewhat recovered himself, 
to change the course of his thoughts, we asked whether 
he were prosecuted for his assault on the English sergeant, 
and what became of him ? 

" Oh ! to do him justice, as one should do to everyone," 
said the old man, '' he behaved very handsome to me 
when I was brought to trial ; and told the whole truth, 
only blamed himself more than I would have done, 
and said it was all his fault for laughing at me and my 
nation more than a man could bear, situated as I was. 
They acquitted me through this means. We shook hands, 
and he hoped all would go right with me, he said ; but 
nothing ever went right with me after. I took little note 
ever after of worldly matters ; all belonging to me went 
to rack and ruin. The hand of God was upon me ; 
I could not help myself, nor settle mind or body to any- 
thing. I heard them say sometimes I was a little touched 
in my head ; however that might be I cannot say. But 
at the last I found it was as good for me to give up all 



54 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

that was left to my friends, who were better able to 
manage, and more eager for it than I ; and fancying a 
roving life would agree with me best, I quitted the place, 
taking nothing with me, but resolved to walk the world, 
and just trust to the charity of good Christians, or die, 
as it should please God. How I have lived so long, 
He only knows, and His will be done." 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 55 



SELECTIONS FROM ENNUI ; 

OR, 

MEMOIRS OF THE EARL OF GLENTHORN. 

The story is told in the first person. I^ord Glenthorn, a rich young 
peer, had become thoroughly bored by fashionable life in I^ondon, 
Bom in Ireland, where he owned a large property, he had left 
the country as a child, and had no desire to revisit it until his old 
foster-mother, EHinor O'Donoghue, made her way to him in England, 
and put the thought into his head. Shortly after this, lyady 
Glenthorn, " whose chief idea of happiness in marriage was the 
possession of the jewels and paraphemaHa of a countess," eloped 
with a Captain Crawley, who had pretended to be her husband's 
friend. Glenthorn divorced his wife, and fell into a state of 
melancholy. He chanced to attend a prize-fight in London, where 
his feelings were touched by the sufferings of an Irish pugilist, 
Michael Noonan, who received a fatal injury in the fight. The 
dying man, who had come from Lord Glenthom's own county, 
begged *' that I would carry half a guinea, the only money he 
possessed, to his aged father and a silk handkerchief he had worn 
round bis neck to his sister." ..." Mixed motives govern 
the conduct of half mankind ; so I set out upon my journey to 
Ireland." 

ARRIVAL IN IRELAND. 

I was detained six days by contrary winds at Holyhead. 
Sick of that miserable place, in my ill-humour I cursed 
Ireland, and twice resolved to return to London ; but 
the wind changed, my carriage was on board the packet ; 
so I sailed and landed safely in Dublin. I was surprised 



S6 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

by the excellence of the hotel at which I was lodged. I 
had not conceived that such accommodation could have 
been found in DubHn. The house had, as I was told, 
belonged to a nobleman ; it was fitted up and appointed 
with a degree of elegance, and even magnificence, beyond 
what I had been used to in the most fashionable hotels 
in London. 

** Ah ! sir," said an Irish gentleman, who found me 
in admiration upon the staircase, '' this is all very good, 
very fine, but it is too good and too fine to last ; come here 
again in two years, and Tm afraid you will see all this 
going to rack and ruin. This is too often the case w^ith 
us in Ireland ; we can project, but we can't calculate ; 
we must have everything upon too large a scale. We 
mistake a grand beginning for a good beginning. We 
begin like princes, and we end like beggars." 

I rested only a few days in a capital in which, I took 
it for granted, there could be nothing worth seeing 
by a person who was just come from London, In 
driving through the streets, I was, however, surprised 
to see buildings which my prejudices could scarcely 
believe to be Irish. I also saw some things which 
recalled to my mind the observations I had heard at my 
hotel. I was struck with instances of grand beginnings 
and lamentable want of finish, with mixture of the 
magnificent and the paltry ; of admirable and execrable 
taste. Though my understanding was wholly un- 
cultivated, these things struck my eye. Of all the 
faculties of my mind, my taste had been most exercised, 
because its exercise had given me least trouble. 

Impatient to see my own castle, I left Dublin. I was 
again astonished by the beauty of the prospects and the 
excellence of the roads. I had in my ignorance believed 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 57 

that I was never to see a tree in Ireland, and that the roads 
were almost impassable. With the promptitude of 
credulity, I now went from one extreme to the other ; 
I concluded that we should travel with the same celerity 
as upon the Bath road ; and I expected that a journey 
for which four days had been allotted might be performed 
in two. Like all those who have nothing to do anywhere, 
I was always in a prodigious hurry to get from place to 
place ; and I ever had a noble ambition to go over as 
much ground as possible in a given space of time. I 
travelled in a light barouche, and with my own horses. 
My own man (an Englishman), and my cook (a French- 
man), followed in a hackney chaise ; I cared not how, 
so that they kept up with me ; the rest was their affair. 
At night, my gentleman complained bitterly of the Irish 
post carriages, and besought me to let him follow at an 
easier rate the next day ; but to this I could by no means 
consent ; for how could I exist without my own man 
and my French cook ? In the morning, just as I was 
ready to set off, and had thrown myself back in my 
carriage, my Englishman and Frenchman came to the 
door, both in so great a rage that the one was inarticulate 
and the other unintelligible. At length the object of 
their indignation spoke for itself. From the inn yard 
came a hackney chaise, in a most deplorable crazy state ; 
the body mounted up to a prodigious height, on un- 
bending springs, nodding forwards, one door swinging 
open, three blinds up, because they could not be let 
down, the perch tied in two places, the iron of the wheels 
half off, half loose, wooden pegs for linch-pins, and ropes 
for harness. The horses were worthy of the harness ; 
wretched little dog-tired creatures, that looked as if 
they had been driven to the last gasp, and as if they 



S^ MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

had never been rubbed down in their Uves ; their bones 
starting through their skin ; one lame, the other bUnd ; 
one with a raw back, the other with a galled breast ; 
one with his neck poking down over his collar, and the 
other with his head dragged forward by a bit of a broken 
bridle, held at arm's length by a man dressed 
like a mad beggar, in half a hat and half a wig, both 
awry in opposite directions ; a long tattered great- 
coat, tied round his waist by a hay-rope ; the jagged rents 
in the skirts of his coat showing his bare legs marbled 
of many colours ; while something like stockings hung 
loose about his ankles. The noises he made by way of 
threatening or encouraging his steeds, I pretend not 
to describe. 

In an indignant voice I called to the landlord, '' I hope 
these are not the horses — I hope this is not the chaise, 
intended for my servants." 

The innkeeper, and the pauper who was preparing to 
officiate as postilion, both in the same instant exclaimed, 
** Sorrow better chaise in the county ! " 

" Sorrow ! " said I ; '* what do you mean by sorrow ? " 

" That there's no better, plase your honour, can be 
seen. We have two more, to be sure ; but one has no 
top, and the other no bottom. Anyway there's no better 
can be seen than this same." 

" And these horses ! " cried I ; " why, this horse is 
so lame he can hardly stand." 

'' Oh, plase your honour, tho' he can't stand, he'll 
go fast enough. He has a great deal of the rogue in him, 
plase your honour. He's always that way at first setting 
out." 

" And that wretched animal with the galled breast ! " 

** He's all the better for it, when once he warms ; it's 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 59 

he that will go with the speed of light, plase your honour. 
Sure, is not he Knockecroghery ? and didn't I give 
fifteen guineas for him, barring the luck penny, at the 
fair of Knockecroghery, and he rising four year old at 
the same time ? " 

I could not avoid smiling at this speech ; but my 
gentleman, maintaining his angry gravity, declared, in 
a sullen tone, that he would be cursed if he went with 
such horses ; and the Frenchman, with abundance of 
gesticulation, made a prodigious chattering, which no 
mortal understood . 

'' Then Til tell you what you'll do," said Paddy ; 
*' you'll take four, as becomes gentlemen of your quaUty, 
and you'll see how we'll powder along." 

And straight he put the knuckle of his fore-finger 
in his mouth, and whistled shrill and strong ; and, 
in a moment, a whistle somewhere out in the fields 
answered him. 

I protested against these proceedings, but in vain ; 
before the first pair of horses were fastened to the chaise, 
up came a little boy with the others /r^5^ from the plough. 
They were quick enough in putting these to ; yet how 
they managed it with their tackle I know not. " Now 
we're fixed handsomely," said Paddy. 

" But this chaise will break down the first mile." 

" Is it this chaise, plase your honour ? I'll engage 
it will go the world's end. The universe wouldn't 
break it down now ; sure it was mended but last night." 

Then seizing his whip and reins in one hand, he clawed 
up his stockings with the other ; so with one easy step 
he got into his place, and seated himself, coachman-like, 
upon a well-worn bar of wood that served as a coach-box. 
*' Throw me the loan of a trusty Bartly, for a cushion," 



6o MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

said he. A frieze coat was thrown up over the horses' 
heads — Paddy caught it. '' Where are you, Hosey ? " 
cried he. ** Sure Fm only rowHng a wisp of straw 
on my leg," replied Hosey. ** Throw me up," added this 
paragon of postilions, turning to one of the crowd of idle 
bystanders. ** Arra, push me up, can't ye ? " 

A man took hold of his knee, and threw him upon the 
horse ; he was in his seat in a trice ; then clinging by 
the mane of his horse, he scrambled for the bridle, which 
was under the other horse's feet — reached it, and, 
well satisfied with himself, looked round at Paddy, 
who looked back to the chaise-door at my angry servants, 
** secure in the last event of things." In vain the English- 
man in monotonous anger, and the Frenchman in every 
note of the gamut, abused Paddy ; necessity and wit were 
on Paddy's side ; he parried all that was said against 
his chaise, his horses, himself, and his country, with 
invincible comic dexterity, till at last both his adversaries, 
dumb-founded, clambered into the vehicle, where 
they were instantly shut up in straw and darkness. 
Paddy, in a triumphant tone, called to my postilions, 
bidding them ** get on, and not be stopping the way any 
longer." 

Without uttering a syllable, they drove on ; but they 
could not, nor could I, refrain from looking back to see 
how those fellows would manage. We saw the fore- 
horses make towards the right, then to the left, and every 
way but straight forwards ; whilst Paddy bawled to 
Hosey — ** Keep the middle of the road, can't ye ? I 
don't want ye to draw a pound at-all-at-all." 

At last, by dint of whipping, the four horses were 
compelled to set off in a lame gallop ; but they stopped 
short at a hill near the end of the town, whilst a shouting 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND 6l 

troop of ragged boys followed, and pushed them fairly 
to the top. Half an hour afterwards, as we were putting 
on our drag-chain to go down another steep hill — to 
my utter astonishment, Paddy, with his horses in full 
gallop, came rattling and chehupping past us. My 
people called to warn him that he had no drag ; but still 
he cried *' Never fear ! '' and shaking the long reins, and 
stamping with his foot, on he went thundering down the 
hill. My Englishmen were aghast. 

** The turn yonder below, at the bottom of the hill, is 
as sharp and ugly as ever I see,'' said my postilion, after 
a moment's stupefied silence. '' He will break their 
necks, as sure as my name is John." 

Quite the contrary ; when we had dragged and un- 
dragged, and came up to Paddy, we found him safe on 
his legs, mending some of his tackle very quietly. 

" If that had broken as you were going down the steep 
hill," said I, ** it would have been all over with you, 
Paddy." 

" That's true, plase your honour ; but it never 
happened to me going down hill — nor never will, by the 
blessing of God, if I've any luck. " 

With this mixed confidence in a special providence, 
and in his own good luck, Paddy went on, much to my 
amusement. It was his glory to keep before us ; and 
he rattled on till he came to a narrow part of the road, 
where they were rebuilding a bridge. Here there was 
a dead stop. Paddy lashed his horses, and called them 
all manner of names ; but the wheel horse, Knocke- 
croghery, was restive, and at last began to kick most 
furiously. It seemed inevitable that the first kick which 
should reach the splinter-bar, at which it was aimed, 
must demolish it instantly. My English gentleman 



62 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

and my Frenchman both put their heads out of the only 
window which was pervious, and called most manfully 
to be let out. " Never fear," said Paddy. To open 
the door for themselves was beyond their force or 
skill. One of the hind wheels, which had belonged to 
another carriage, was too high to suffer the door to 
be opened, and the blind at the other side prevented 
their attempts, so they were close prisoners. The 
men who had been at work on the broken bridge 
came forward, and rested on their spades to see the 
battle. As my carriage could not pass, I was also 
compelled to be a spectator of this contest between man 
and horse. 

" Never fear," reiterated Paddy ; " FU engage I'll 
be up wid him. Now for it, Knockecroghery ! Oh, 
the rogue, he thinks he has me at a nonplushy but FU 
show him the differ.'' 

After this brag of war, Paddy whipped, Knocke- 
croghery kicked ; and Paddy, seemingly unconscious 
of danger, sat within reach of the kicking horse, twitching 
up first one of his legs, then the other, and shifting as 
the animal aimed his hoofs, escaping every time as it 
were by a miracle. With a mixture of temerity and 
presence of mind, which made us alternately look upon 
him as a madman and a hero, he gloried in the danger, 
secure of success, and of the sympathy of the spec- 
tators. 

*' Ah ! didn't I compass him cleverly then ? Oh, 
the villain, to be browbeating me ! Fm too cute for him 
yet. See there, now, he's come to ; and FU be his bail 
he'll go asy enough wid me. Ogh ! he has a fine spirit 
of his own, but it's I that can match him ; 'twould 
be a poor case if a man like me couldn't match a horse 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 63 

anyway, let alone a mare, which this is, or it never would 
be so vicious." 

After this hard-fought battle, and suitable rejoicing 
for the victory, Paddy walked his subdued adversary 
on a few yards to allow us to pass him ; but, to the 
dismay of my postilions, a hay-rope was at this instant 
thrown across the road, before our horses, by the road- 
makers, who, to explain this proceeding, cried out, 
" Plase your honour, the road is so dry, we'd expect 
a trifle to wet it." 

*' What do these fellows mean ? " said I. 

" It's only a tester or a hog they want, your honour, 
to give 'em to drink your honour's health," said Paddy. 

*' A hog to drink my health ? " 

** Ay, that is a thirteen, plase your honour ; all as one 
as an English shilling." 

I threw them a shilling ; the hay-rope was withdrawn, 
and at last we went on. We heard no more of Paddy 
till evening. He came in two hours after us, and expected 
to be doubly paid for driving my honour's gentleman so 
well. 

I must say that on this journey, though I met with 
many delays and disasters ; though one of my horses 
was lamed in shoeing by a smith, who came home drunk 
from a funeral ; and though the back panel of my car- 
riage was broken by the pole of a chaise ; and though 
one day I went without my dinner at a large desloate 
inn, where nothing was to be had but whiskey ; and 
though one night I lay in a Httle smoky den, in which 
the meanest of my servants in England would have 
thought it impossible to sleep ; and though I complained 
bitterly, and swore it was impracticable for a gentleman 
to travel in Ireland ; yet I never remember to have 



64 



MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



experienced, on my journey, less ennui.* I was out of 
patience twenty times a day, but I certainly felt no 
ennui ; and I am convinced that the benefit some patients 
receive from a journey is in an inverse proportion to the 
ease and luxury of their mode of travelling. When they 
are coi^ipelled to exert their faculties, and to use their 
limbs, they forget their nerves, as I did. Upon this 
principle I should recommend to wealthy hypochondriacs 

* Since Lord Glen thorn's Memoirs were published, the editor 
has received letters and information from the east, west, north, 
and south of Ireland, on the present state of posting in that country. 
The following is one of the many, which is vouched by indisputable 
authority as a true and recent anecdote, given in the very words 
in which it was related to the editor .... Mr. * * * ♦, travelling 
in Ireland, having got into a hackney chaise, was surprised to hear 
the driver knocking at each side of the carriage. " What are you 
doing ? " — " A'n't I nailing your honour up ? " — *' Why do you nail 
me up ? I don't wish to be nailed up." — " Augh ! would your 
honour have the doors fly off the hinges ? " When they came to 
the end of the stage, Mr. * * * * begged the man to unfasten the doors. 
" Ogh ! what would I be taking out the nails for, to be racking the 
doors ? " — " How shall I get out then ? " — " Can't your honour 
get out of the window like any other jantleman ? " Mr. * * ♦ * began 
the operation ; but having forced his head and shoulder out, could 
get no farther, and called again to the postiHon. " Augh ! did any 
one ever see anyone get out of a chay head foremost ? Can't your 
honour put out your feet first, like a Christian ? " 

Another correspondent from the south relates that when he 
refused to go on till one of the four horses, who wanted a shoe, was 
shod, his two postilions in his hearing commenced thus : " Paddy, 
where will I get a shoe, and no smith nigh hand ? " — " Why don't 
you see yon jantleman' s horse in the field ? can't you go and unshoe 
him ? " — " True for ye," said Jem ; " but that horse's shoe will 
never fit him." — " Augh ! you can but try it," said Paddy. So 
the gentleman's horse was actually unshod, and his shoe put upon 
the hackney horse ; and, fit or not fit, Paddy went off with it. 

Another gentleman travelling in the north of Ireland in a hackney 
chaise during a storm of wind and rain, found that two of the 
windows were broken, and two could not by force or art of man be 
pulled up ; he ventured to complain to his Paddy of the incon- 
venience he suffered from the storm pelting in his face. His consol- 
ation was, " Augh ! God bless your honour, and can't you get out 
and set behind the carriage, and you'll not get a drop at all, I'll 
engage." 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 65 

a journey in Ireland, preferably to any country in the 
civilized world. I can promise them that they will 
not only be moved to anger often enough to make their 
blood circulate briskly, but they will even, in the acme 
of their impatience, be thrown into salutary convulsions 
of laughter by the comic concomitants of their disasters ; 
besides, if they have hearts, their best feelings cannot 
fail to be awakened by the warm, generous hospitality 
they will receive in this country, from the cabin to the 
castle. 

Late in the evening of the fourth day we came to an inn 
on the verge of the county where my estate was situate. 
It was one of the wildest parts of Ireland. We could find 
no horses, nor accommodations of any sort, and we 
had several miles farther to go. For our only comfort, 
the dirty landlady, who had married the hostler, and wore 
gold drop ear-rings, reminded us that, " Sure, if we could 
but wait an hour, and take a fresh egg, we should have a 
fine moon." 

After many fruitless imprecations, my French cook was 
obliged to mount one of my saddle-horses ; my groom 
was left to follow us the next day ; I let my gentleman 
sit on the barouche box, and proceeded with my own 
tired horses. The moon, which my landlady had 
promised me, rose, and I had a full view of the face of 
the country. As we approached my maritime territories, 
the cottages were thinly scattered, and the trees had a 
stunted appearance ; they all slanted one way, from 
the prevalent winds that blew from the ocean. Our 
road presently stretched along the beach, and I saw 
nothing to vary the prospect but rocks, and their huge 
shadows upon the water. The road being sandy, the 
feet of the horses made no noise, and nothing interrupted 



66 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

the silence of the night but the hissing sound of the 
carriage- wheels passing through the sand. 

** What o'clock is it now, think you, John ? '' said one 
of my postilions to the other. 

" Past twelve, for sartain,'' said John ; " and this bees 
a strange Irish place," continued he, in a drawling 
voice ; '' with no possible way o' getting at it, as I see." 
John, after a pause, resumed, ** I say, Timothy, to the 
best of my opinion, this here road is leading on us into 
the sea." John replied, '* that he did suppose there 
might be such a thing as a boat farther on, but where, 
he could not say for sartain.'^ Dismayed and helpless, 
they at last stopped to consult whether they had come 
the right road to the house. In the midst of their con- 
sultation there came up an Irish carman, whistling as he 
walked beside his horse and car. 

" Honest friend, is this the road to Glen thorn 
Castle ? " 

" To Glenthorn, sure enough, your honour.'* 

" Whereabouts is the castle ?" 

** Forenent you, if you go on to the turn.'* 

" Forenent you ! " As the postilions pondered upon 
this word, the carman, leaving his horse and car, 
turned back to explain by action what he could not 
make intelligible by words. 

'' See, isn't here the castle ? " cried he, darting before 
us to the turn of the road, where he stood pointing at 
what we could not possibly see, as it was hid by a pro- 
montory of rock. When we reached the spot where 
he was stationed, we came full upon the view of Glen- 
thorn Castle ; it seemed to rise from the sea, abrupt 
and insulated, in all the gloomy grandeur of ancient times, 
with turrets and battlements, and a huge gateway, the 



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF IRELAND. 67 

pointed arch of which receded in perspective between 
the projecting towers. 

** It's my lord himself, Tm fond to believe ! '' said 
our guide, taking oft' his hat ; *' I had best step on and 
tell 'em at the castle.'' 

** No, my good friend, there is no occasion to trouble 
you farther ; you had better go back to your horse and 
car, which you have left on the road." 

** Oh ! they are used to that, plase your honour ; 
they'll go on very quttey and I'll run like a redshank with 
the news to the castle." 

He ran on before us with surprising velocity, whilst 
our tired horses dragged us slowly through the sand. 
As we approached, the gateway of the castle opened, 
and a number of men, who appeared to be dwarfs when 
compared with the height of the building, came out 
with torches in their hands. By their bustle, and the 
vehemence with which they bawled to one another, 
one might have thought that the whole castle was in 
flames ; but they were only letting down a drawbridge. 
As I was going over this bridge, a casement window 
opened in the castle ; and a voice, which I knew to be old 
EUinor's, exclaimed, '' Mind the big hole in the middle 
of the bridge, God bless yees ! " 

I passed over the broken bridge, and through the 
massive gate, under an arched way, at the farthest end 
of which a lamp had just been lighted ; then I came into 
a large open area, the court of the castle. The hollow 
sound of the horses' feet, and of the carriage rumbling 
over the drawbridge, was immediately succeeded by the 
strange and eager voices of the people, who filled the court 
with a variety of noises, contrasting, in the most striking 
manner, with the silence in which we had travelled over 



68 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

the sands. The great effect that my arrival instantane- 
ously produced upon the multitude of servants and 
dependants, who issued from the castle, gave me an idea 
of my own consequence beyond anything which I had 
ever felt in England. These people seemed '' born for 
my use " ; the officious precipitation with which they ran 
to and fro ; the style in which they addressed me ; some 
crying, " Long hfe to the Earl of Glenthorn ! " some 
blessing me for coming to reign over them ; all together 
gave more the idea of the vassals than of tenants, and 
carried my imagination centuries back to fedual times. 

The first person I saw on entering the hall of my castle 
was poor EUinor ; she pushed her way up to me. 

'' 'Tis himself ! " cried she. Then turning about 
suddenly, ** I've seen him in his own castle — I've seen 
him ; and if it pleases God this minute to take me to 
himself, I would die with pleasure." 

" My good Ellinor," said I, touched to the heart by 
her affection, ** my good Ellinor, I hope you will live 
many a happy year ; and if I can contribute — " 

** And himself to speak to me so kind before them all ! " 
interrupted she. ** Oh ! this is too much — quite too 
much ! " She burst into tears ; and, hiding her face 
with her arm, made her wav out of the hall. 

The flights of stairs which I had to ascend, and the 
length of galleries through which I was conducted, 
before I reached the apartment where supper was served, 
gave me a vast idea of the extent of my castle ; but I was 
too much fatigued to enjoy fully the gratifications of 
pride. To the simple pleasures of appetite I was more 
sensible ; I ate heartily of one of the most profusely 
hospitable suppers that ever was prepared for a noble 
baron, even in the days when oxen were roasted whole. 



ESTATE MANAGEMENT. 69 

Then I grew so sleepy that I was impatient to be shown 
to my bed. I was ushered through another suite of 
chambers and galleries ; and, as I was traversing one of 
these, a door of some strange dormitory opened, and a 
group of female heads were thrust out, in the midst of 
which I could distinguish old EUinor's face ; but, as I 
turned my head, the door closed so quickly that I had 
no time to speak ; I only heard the words, ** Blessings 
on him ! that's he ! " 

I was so sleepy that I rejoiced having escaped an 
occasion where I might have been called upon to speak, 
yet I was really grateful to my poor nurse for her blessing. 
The state tower, in which, after reiterated entreaties, 
I was at last left alone to repose, was hung with magnifi- 
cent, but ancient tapestry. It was so like a room in a 
haunted castle, that if I had not been too much fatigued 
to think of anything, I should certainly have thought 
of Mrs. Radcliffe. I am sorry to say that I have no 
mysteries, or even portentous omens, to record of this 
night ; for the moment that I lay down in my anti- 
quated bed I fell into a profound sleep. 



ESTATE MANAGEMENT. 

The method of doing good, which seemed to require 
the least exertion, and which I, therefore, most willingly 
practised, was giving away money. I did not wait to 
inquire, much less to examine, into the merits of the claim- 
ants ; but, without selecting proper objects, I relieved 
myself from the uneasy feeling of pity by indiscriminate 
donations to objects apparently the most miserable. 



70 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

I was quite angry with Mr. M'Leod, my agent, and 
considered him as a selfish, hard-hearted miser, because 
he did not seem to sympathize with me, or to applaud 
my generosity. I was so much irritated by his cold 
silence, that I could not forbear pressing him to say 
something. 

** / doubt, then," said he, '' since you desire me to 
speak my mind, my lord, I doubt whether the best way 
of encouraging the industrious is to give premiums 
to the idle." 

** But idle or not, these poor wretches are so miserable 
that I cannot refuse to give them something ; and, 
surely, when one can do it so easily, it is right to relieve 
misery. Is it not ? " 

" Undoubtedly, my lord ; but the difficulty is, to 
relieve present misery, without creating more in future. 
Pity for one class of beings sometimes makes us cruel 
to others. I am told that there are some Indian Brahmins 
so very compassionate that they hire beggars to let fleas 
feed upon them ; I doubt whether it might not be better 
to let the fleas starve." 

I did not in the least understand what Mr. M^Leod 
meant ; but I was soon made to comprehend it, by 
crowds of eloquent beggars, who soon surrounded me ; 
many who had been resolutely struggling with their 
difficulties slackened their exertions, and left their 
labour for the easier trade of imposing upon my credulity. 
The money I had bestowed was wasted at the dram-shop, 
or it became the subject of family-quarrels ; and those 
whom I had relieved returned to my honour, with fresh 
and insatiable expectations. All this time my indus- 
trious tenants grumbled, because no encouragement 
vv^as given to them ; and, looking upon me as a weak, 



ESTATE MANAGEMENT. 7 1 

good-natured fool, they combined in a resolution to ask 
me for long leases, or reduction of rent. 

The rhetoric of my tenants succeeded in some 
instances ; and again I was mortified by Mr. M'Leod's 
silence. I was too proud to ask his opinion. I ordered 
and was obeyed. A few leases for long terms were 
signed and sealed ; and v/hen I had thus my own way 
completely, I could not refrain from recurring to Mr. 
M*Leod's opinion. 

" I doubt, my lord," said he, " whether this measure 
may be as advantageous as you hope. These fellows, 
these middle-men, will underset the land, and live in 
idleness, whilst they rack a parcel of wretched under- 
tenants." 

** But they said they would keep the land in their own 
hands and improve it ; and that the reason why they 
could not afford to improve before was that they had not 
long leases." 

** It may be doubted whether long leases alone will 
make improving tenants ; for in the next county to us 
there are many farms of the dowager Lady Ormsby's land 
let at ten shillings an acre, and her tenantry are beggars ; 
and the land now, at the end of the leases, is worn out, 
and worse than at their commencement." 

I was weary listening to this cold reasoning, and 
resolved to apply no more for explanations to Mr. 
M'Leod ; yet in my indolence I wanted the support of 
his approbation, at the very time I was jealous of his 
interference. 

At one time I had a mind to raise the wages of labour ; 
but Mr. M*Leod said, '' It might be doubted whether 
the people would not work less, when they could with less 
work have money enough to support them." 



72 MARIA EDGEWORTH 

I was puzzled ; and then I had a mind to lower 
the wages of labour, to force them to work or starve. 
Still provoking Mr. M*Leod said, *' It might be 
doubted whether it would not be better to leave them 
alone." 

I gave marriage-portions to the daughters of my 
tenants, and rewards to those who had children ; for 
I had always heard that legislators should encourage 
population. 

Still Mr. M*Leod hesitated to approve ; he observed, 
** that my estate was so populous, that the complaint 
in each family was, that they had not land for the sons. 
It might be doubted whether, if a farm could support 
but ten people, it were wise to encourage the birth of 
twenty. It might be doubted whether it were not better 
for ten to live, and be well fed, than for twenty to be born, 
and to be half-starved.'' 

To encourage manufactures in my town of Glenthorn, 
I proposed putting a clause in my leases, compelling 
my tenants to buy stuffs and linens manufactured at 
Glenthorn, and nowhere else. Stubborn M^Leod, as 
usual, began with, '' I doubt whether that will not en- 
courage the manufacturers at Glenthorn to make bad 
stuffs and bad linen, since they are sure of a sale, and 
without danger of competition." 

At all events, I thought my tenants would grow rich 
and independent^ if they made everj^thing at home that they 
wanted ; yet Mr. MXeod perplexed me by his '' doubt 
whether it would not be better for a man to buy shoes, 
if he could buy them cheaper than he could make them." 
He added something about the division of labour, and 
Smith's Wealth of Nations ; to which I could only 
answer — '* Smith's a Scotchman." 



ESTATE MANAGEMENT. 73 

I cannot express how much I dreaded Mr. M'Leod's 
/ doubt — and - It may be doubted. 

From the pain of doubt, and the labour of thought, 
I was soon most agreeably reprieved by the company 
of a Ml . Hardcastle, whose visits I constantly encouraged 
by a most gracious reception. Mr. Hardcastle was the 
agent of the dowager Lady Ormsby, who had a large 
estate in my neighbourhood ; he was the very reverse 
of my Mr. M'Leod in his deportment and conversation. 
Talkative, self-sufficient, peremptory, he seemed not 
to know what it was to doubt ; he considered doubt as 
a proof of ignorance, imbecility, or cowardice. ** Can 
any man doubt ? " was his usual beginning. On every 
subject of human knowledge, taste, morals, politics, 
economy, legislation ; on all affairs, civil, military, or 
ecclesiastical, he decided at once in the most confident 
tone. Yet he ** never read, not he ! '' he had nothing 
to do with books ; he consulted only his own eyes and 
ears, and appealed only to common sense. As to theory, 
he had no opinion of theory ; for his part, he only 
pretended to understand practice and experience — and 
his practice was confined steadily to his own practice, 
and his experience uniformly to what he had tried at 
Newtown- Hardcastle. 

At first I thought him a mighty clever man, and I really 
rejoiced to see my doubter silenced. After dinner, when 
he had finished speaking in this decisive manner, I used 
frequently to back him with a — Very true — very fair — 
very clear — though I understood what he said as little 
as he did himself ; but it was an ease to my mind to have 
a disputed point settled — and I filled my glass with an 
air of triumph, whilst M*Leod never contradicted my 
assertions, nor controverted Mr. Hardcastle's arguments 



74 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

There was still an air of content and quiet self-satis- 
faction in M'Leod's very silence, which surprised and 
vexed me. 

One day, when Hardcastle was laying down the law 
upon several subjects in his usual dictatorial manner, 
telling us how he managed his people, and what order 
he kept them in, I was determined that M^Leod should 
not enjoy the security of his silence, and I urged him 
to give us his general opinion as to the means of im- 
proving the poor people in Ireland. 

" I doubt," said M'Leod, ** whether anything effectual 
can be done till they have a better education." 

" Education !--Pshaw ! — There it is now — these book- 
men," cried Hardcastle. ** Why, my dear sir, can any 
man alive, who knows his country, doubt that the com- 
mon people have already too much education, as it is 
called — a vast deal too much ? Too many of them 
know how to read, and write, and cipher, which I presume 
is all you mean by education." 

" Not entirely," said MXeod ; " a good education 
comprehends something more." 

** The more the worse," interrupted Hardcastle. 
" The more they know, the worse they are, sir, depend 
on that ; I know the people of this country, sir ; I have 
a good right to know them, sir, being born amongst them, 
and bred amongst them ; so I think I may speak with 
some confidence on these matters. And I give it as my 
decided humble opinion, founded on irrefragable ex- 
perience, which is what I always build upon, that the way 
to ruin the poor of Ireland would be to educate them, sir. 
Look at the poor scholars, as they call themselves ; and 
what are they ? — a parcel of young vagabonds in rags, 
with a book under their arm instead of a spade or a shovel. 



ESTATE MANAGEMENT. 75 

sir. And what comes of this ? — that they grow up the 
worst-disposed and the most troublesome seditious 
rascals in the community. I allow none of them 
about New-town-Hardcastle — none — banished them all. 
Useless vagrants — hornets, vipers, sir ; and show me a 
quieter, better-managed set of people than I have made 
of mine. I go upon experience, sir ; and that's the only 
thing to go upon ; and I'll go no farther than New- 
town-Hardcastle ; if that won't bring conviction home 
to you, nothing will." 

** I never was at New-town-Hardcastle," said M'Leod, 
drily. 

** Well, sir, I hope it will not be the case long. But 
in the meantime, my good sir, do give me leave to put 
it to your own common sense, what can reading or writing 
do for a poor man, unless he is to be a bailiff or an excise- 
man } And you know all men can't expect to be bailiffs 
or excisemen. Can all the book-learning in the world, 
sir, dig a poor man's potatoes for him, or plough his 
land, or cut his turf ? Then, sir, in this country, where 's 
the advantage of education, I humbly ask ? No, sir, no, 
trust me — keep the Irish common people ignorant, and 
you keep 'em quiet ; and that's the only way with them ; 
for they are too quick and smart, as it is, naturally. 
Teach them to read and write, and it's just adding fuel 
to fire — fire to gunpowder, sir. Teach them anything, 
and directly you set them up ; now it's our business to 
keep them down^ unless, sir, you'd wish to have your 
throat cut. Education, sir ! Lord bless your soul, sir ! 
they have a great deal too much ; they know too much 
already, which makes them so refractory to the laws and 
so idle. I will go no farther than New-town-Hardcastle 
to prove all this. So, my good sir," concluded he, 



76 MARIA EDGEV/ORTH. 

triumphantly, ** education, I grant you, is necessary 
for the rich ; but tell me, if you can, what's the use of 
education to the poor ? " 

*' Much the same, I apprehend, as to the rich," 
answered M'Leod. ** The use of education, as I under- 
stand it, is to teach men to see clearly, and to follow 
steadily, their real interests. All morality, you know, 
is comprised in this definition ; and '' 

'' Very true, sir ; but all this can never apply to the 
poor in Ireland." 

'* Why, sir ; are they not men ? ** 

*' Men, to be sure ; but not like men in Scotland. 
The Irish know nothing of their interests ; and as to 
morality, that's out of the question ; they know nothing 
about it, my dear sir." 

'' That is the very thing of which I complain," said 
M'Leod. ** They know nothing, because they have 
been taught nothing.'' 

*' They cannot be taught, sir." 

" Did you ever try ? " 

** I didy sir, no later than last week. A fellow that I 
caught stealing my turf, instead of sending him to jail, 
I said to him, with a great deal of lenity : My honest 
fellow, did you never hear of the eighth commandment, 
' Thou shalt not steal ? ' He confessed he had, but 
did not know it was the eighth. I showed it to him, 
and counted it to him myself ; and set him, for a punish- 
ment, to get his whole catechism. Well, sir, the next 
week I found him stealing my turf again ! and when I 
caught him by the wrist in the fact, he said it was because 
the priest would not let him learn the catechism I gave him 
because it was a Protestant one. Now, you see, sir, 
there's a bar for ever to all education." 



LADY GERALDINE. 77 

Mr. M^Leod smiled, said something about time and 
patience, and observed *' that one experiment was not 
conclusive against a whole nation." Anything like a 
general argument Mr. Hardcastle could not comprehend. 
He knew every blade of grass within the reach of his 
tether, but could not reach an inch beyond. Anything 
like an appeal to benevolent feelings was lost upon 
him ; for he was so frank in his selfishness that he did 
not even pretend to be generous. By sundry self- 
complacent motions he showed, whilst his adversary 
spoke, that he disdained to listen almost as much as to 
read ; but, as soon as M^Leod paused, he said, *' What 
you observe, sir, may possibly be very true ; but I have 
made up my mind." Then he went over and over 
again his assertions, in a louder and a louder voice, ending 
with a tone of interrogation that seemed to set all answer 
at defiance, ** What have you to answer to me now, sir ? 
Can any man alive doubt this, sir ? " 



LADY GERALDINE. 

Arrived at Ormsby Villa, and introduced to this crowd 
of people, I was at first disappointed by seeing nothing 
extraordinary. I expected that their manners would 
have been as strange to me as some of their names ap- 
peared ; but whether it was from my want of the powers 
of discrimination, or from the real sameness of the objects, 
I could scarcely, in this fashionable flock, discern any 
individual marks of distinction. At first view, 
the married ladies appeared much the same as those 
of a similar class in England, whom I had been accustomed 
to see. The young ladies I thought, as usual, ** best 



78 MARIA EDGEVVORTH. 

distinguished by black, brown, and fair " ; but I had 
not yet seen Lady Geraldine **^^^*^** ; and a great part 
of the conversation, the first day I was at Ormsby Villa, 
was filled with lamentations on the unfortunate tooth- 
ache which prevented her ladyship from appearing. 
She was talked of so much, and as a person of such 
importance, and so essential to the amusement of society 
that I could not help feeling a slight wish to see her. 
The next day at breakfast she did not appear ; but, 
five minutes before dinner, her ladyship's humble 
companion whispered, " Now Lady Geraldine is coming, 
my lord." I was always rather displeased to be called 
upon to attend to anything or anybody, yet as Lady 
Geraldine entered, I gave one involuntary glance of 
curiosity. I saw a tall, finely-shaped woman, with the 
commanding air of a woman of rank ; she moved well ; 
not with feminine timidity, but with ease, promptitude, 
and decision. She had fine eyes and a fine complexion, 
yet no regularity of feature. The only thing that struck 
me as really extraordinary was her indifference when I 
was introduced to her. Everybody had seemed 
extremely desirous that I should see her ladyship, and 
that her ladyship should see me ; and I was rather 
surprised by her unconcerned air. This piqued me, 
and fixed my attention. She turned from me, and began 
to converse with others. Her voice was agreeable ; 
she did not speak with the Irish accent ; but, w^hen I 
listened maliciously, I detected certain Hibernian 
inflections ; nothing of the vulgar Irish idiom, but some- 
thing that was more interrogative, more exclamatory, 
and perhaps more rhetorical, than the common language 
of English ladies, accompanied with much animation 
of countenance and demonstrative gesture. This ap- 



LADY GERALDINE. 79 

peared to me peculiar and unusual, but not affected. 
She was uncommonly eloquent, and yet, without action, 
her words were not sufficiently rapid to express her 
ideas. Her manner appeared foreign, yet it was not 
quite French. If I had been obliged to decide, I should, 
however, have pronounced it rather more French than 
English. To determine what it was, or whether I had 
ever seen anything similar, I stood considering her 
ladyship with more attention than I had ever bestowed 
on any other woman. The words striking — fascinating 
— bewitching^ occurred to me as I looked at her and heard 
her speak. I resolved to turn my eyes away, and shut 
my ears ; for I was positively determined not to like her, 
I dreaded so much the idea of a second Hymen. I 
retreated to the farthest window, and looked out very 
soberly upon a dirty fish-pond. Dinner was announced. 
I observed Lady Kildangan manoeuvring to place me 
beside her daughter Geraldine, but Lady Geraldine 
counteracted this movement. I was again surprised and 
piqued. After yielding the envied position to one of 
the Swanlinbar Graces, I heard Lady Geraldine whisper 
to her next neighbour, *' Baffled, mamma ! " 

It was strange to me to feel piqued by a young lady's 
not choosing to sit beside me. After dinner, I left the 
gentlemen as soon as possible, because the conversation 
wearied me. Lord Kilrush, the chief orator, was a 
courtier, and could talk of nothing but Dublin Castle 
and my Lord Lieutenant's levees. The moment that I 
went to the ladies, I was seized upon by the officious 
Miss Bland ; she could not speak of anything but Lady 
Geraldine, who sat at so great a distance, and who was 
conversing with such animation herself, that she could 
not hear her proneuse^ Miss Bland, inform me that ** her 



8o MARIA tt)GEWORtM. 

friend, Lady Geraldine, was extremely clever ; so clever 
that many people were at first a little afraid of her ; but 
that there was not the least occasion ; for that, where 
she liked, nobody could be more affable and engaging/' 
This judicious friend, a minute afterwards, told me, 
as a very great secret, that Lady Geraldine was an admir- 
able mimic ; that she could draw or speak caricatures ; 
that she was also wonderfully happy in the invention of 
agnomens and cognomens, so applicable to the persons 
that they could scarcely be forgotten or forgiven. I 
was a little anxious to know whether her ladyship would 
honour me with an agnomen. I could not learn this 
from Miss Bland, and I was too prudent to betray my 
curiosity ; I afterwards heard it, however. Pairing me 
and Mr. M*Leod, whom she had seen together, her 
ladyship observed that Sawney and Yawney were made 
for each other ; and she sketched, in strong caricature, 
my relaxed elongation of limb and his rigid rectangu- 
larity. A slight degree of fear of Lady Geraldine's 
powers kept my attention alert. In the course of the 
evening, Lady Kildangan summoned her daughter 
to the music-room, and asked me to come and hear 
an Irish song. I exerted myself so far as to follow 
immediately ; but though summoned. Lady Geraldine 
did not obey. Miss Bland tuned the harp, and opened the 
music-books on the piano ; but no Lady Geraldine ap- 
peared. Miss Bland was sent backwards and forwards 
with messages ; but Lady Geraldine's ultimatum was, 
that she could not possibly sing, because she was afraid of 
the tooth-ache. God knows, her mouth had never been 
shut all the evening. '' Well, but," said Lady Kildangan, 
*' she can play for us, cannot she ? '' No ; her ladyship 
was afraid of the cold in the music-room. ** Do, my 



LADY GERALDINE. 8 1 

Lord Glenthorn, go and tell the dear capricious creature 
that we are very warm here." 

Very reluctantly I obeyed. The Lady Geraldine, with 
her circle round her, heard and answered me with the 
air of a princess. 

** Do you the honour to play for you, my lord ! 
Excuse me ; I am no professor — I play so ill, that I 
make it a rule never to play but for my own amusement. 
If you wish for music, there is Miss Bland ; she plays 
incomparably, and, I dare say, will think herself happy 
to oblige your lordship." I never felt so silly, or so much 
abashed, as at this instant. ** This comes," thought I, 
*' of acting out of character. What possessed me to 
exert myself to ask a lady to play ? I, that have been 
tired to death of music ! Why did I let myself be sent 
ambassador, when I had no interest in the embassy ? " 

To convince myself and others of my apathy, I threw 
myself on a sofa, and never stirred or spoke the remainder 
of the night. I presume I appeared fast asleep, else 
Lady Geraldine would not have said, within my hearing, 
" Mamma wants me to catch somebody, and to be caught 
by somebody ; but that will not be ; for, do you know, 
I think somebody is nobody." 

I was offended as much as it was in my nature to be 
offended, and I began to meditate apologies for shorten- 
ing my visit at Ormsby Villa ; but, though I was shocked 
by the haughtiness of Lady Geraldine, and accused her, 
in my own mind, of want of delicacy and politeness, 
yet I could not now suspect her of being an accomplice 
with her mother in any matrimonial designs upon me. 
From the moment I was convinced of this, my conviction 
was, I suppose, visible to her ladyship's penetrating 
eyes, and from that instant she showed me that she could 



o2 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

be polite and agreeable. Now, soothed to a state of 
ease and complacency, I might have sunk to indifference 
and ennui, but fresh singularities in this lady struck me, 
and kept my attention awake and fixed upon her character. 
If she had treated me with tolerable civility at first 
I never should have thought about her. High-born and 
high-bred, she seemed to consider more what she thought 
of others than what others thought of her. Frank, 
candid, and affable, yet opinionated, insolent, and an 
egotist, her candour and affability appeared the effect 
of a naturally good temper, her insolence and egotism 
only those of a spoiled child. She seemed to talk of 
herself purely to oblige others, as the most interesting 
possible topic of conversation ; for such it had always 
been to her fond mother, who idolized her ladyship 
as an only daughter and the representative of an ancient 
house. Confident of her talents, conscious of her 
charms, and secure of her station. Lady Geraldine 
gave free scope to her high spirits, her fancy, and her 
turn for ridicule. She looked, spoke, and acted like 
a person privileged to think, say, and do what she 
pleased. Her raillery, like the raillery of princes, was 
without fear of retort. She was not ill-natured, yet 
careless to whom she gave offence, provided she pro- 
duced amusement ; and in this she seldom failed ; for, 
in her conversation, there was much of the raciness of 
Irish wit and the oddity of Irish humour. The singu- 
larity that struck me most about her ladyship was her 
indifference to flattery. She certainly preferred frolic. 
Lord Craiglethorpe had that sort of bashfulness which 
makes a man surly and obstinate in his taciturnity ; 
which makes him turn upon all who approach him as 
if they were going to assault him ; which makcb him 



LADY GERALDINE. 83 

answer a question as if it were an injury, and repel a 
compliment as if it were an insult. Once, when he 
was out of the room. Lady Geraldine exclaimed, '' That 
cousin Craiglethorpe of mine is scarcely an agreeable 
man ; the awkwardness of mauvaise honte might be pitied 
and pardoned, even in a nobleman,'' continued her 
ladyship, ** if it really proceeded from humility ; but 
here, when I know it is connected with secret and in- 
ordinate arrogance, 'tis past all endurance. Even 
his ways of sitting and standing provoke me, they are so 
self-sufficient. Have you observed how he stands at the 
fire ? Oh, the caricature of * the English fireside ' 
outdone ! Then, if he sits, we hope that change of 
posture may afford our eyes transient relief : but worse 
again ; bolstered up, with his back against his chair, 
his hands in his pockets, and his legs thrown out, in 
defiance of all passengers and all decorum, there he sits, 
in magisterial silence, throwing a gloom upon all con- 
versation. As the Frenchman said of the Englishman, 
for whom even his politeness could not find another 
compliment, * II faut avouer que ce monsieur a un grand 
talent pour le silence ' ; he holds his tongue, till the 
people actually believe that he has something to say ; 
a mistake they could never fall into if he would but 
speak." 

Some of the company attempted to interpose a word 
or two in favour of Lord Craiglethorpe 's timidity, but 
the vivacious and merciless lady went on. 

*' I tell you, my good friends, it is not timidity — it 
is all pride. I would pardon his dulness, and even his 
ignorance ; for one, as you say, might be the fault of 
his nature, and the other of his education ; but his 
self-sufficiency is his own fault, and that I will not and 



§4 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

cannot pardon. Somebody says that nature may 
make a fool, but a coxcomb is always of his own making. 
Now, my cousin — (as he is my cousin, I may say what 
I please of him) — my cousin Craiglethorpe is a solemn 
coxcomb, who thinks, because his vanity is not talkative 
and sociable, that it's not vanity. What a mistake ! 
his silent superciUousness is to me more intolerable than 
the most garrulous egotism that ever laid itself open 
to my ridicule." 

Miss Bland and Miss Ormsby both confessed that Lord 
Craiglethorpe was vastly too silent. 

** For the honour of my country,'* continued Lady 
Geraldine, *' I am determined to make this man talk, 
and he shall say all that I know he thinks of us poor 
Irish savages. If he would but speak, one could answer 
him ; if he would find fault, one might defend ; if he 
would laugh, one might perhaps laugh again ; but here 
he comes to hospitable, open-hearted Ireland ; eats 
as well as he can in his own country ; drinks better than 
he can in his own country ; sleeps as well as he can in 
his own country ; accepts all our kindness without a 
word or a look of thanks, and seems the whole time to 
think that, ' Born for his use, we live but to oblige him.' 
There he is at this instant ; look at him, walking in the 
park, with his note-book in his hand, setting down our 
faults, and conning them by rote. We are even with 
him. I understand. Lady Kilrush, that my bright 
cousin Craiglethorpe means to write a book, a great book, 
upon Ireland." 

Lady Kilrush replied that she understood Lord 
Craiglethorpe had it in contemplation to publish a Tour 
through Ireland, or a View of Ireland, or something of 
that nature. 



LADY GERALDINE. 85 

" He ! with his means of acquiring information ! " 
exclaimed Lady Geraldine. *' Posting from one great 
man's house to another, what can he see or know of the 
manners of any rank of people but of the class of gentry, 
which in England and Ireland is much the same ? As 
to the lower classes, I don't think he ever speaks to them ; 
or, if he does, what good can it do him ? for he can't 
understand their modes of expression, nor they his ; 
if he inquire about a matter of fact, I defy him to get the 
truth out of them, if they don't wish to tell it ; and, for 
some reason or other, they will, nine times in ten, not 
wish to tell it to an Englishman. There is not a man, 
woman, or child, in any cabin in Ireland, who would 
not have wit and 'cuteness enough to make my lard believe 
just what they please. So, after posting from Dublin 
to Cork, and from the Giant's Causeway to Killarney ; 
after travelling east, west, north, and south, my wise 
cousin Craiglethorpe will know just as much of the lower 
Irish as the cockney who has never been out of London, 
and who has never, in all his horn days, seen an Irishman 
but on the English stage ; where the representations 
are usually as like the originals as the Chinese pictures 
of lions, drawn from description, are to the real animal." 

** Now ! now ! look at his lordship ! " cried Miss 
Bland ; ** he has his note-book out again." 

** Mercy on us ! " said Miss Callwell, '* how he is 
writing ! " 

*' Yes, yes, write on, my good cousin Craiglethorpe," 
pursued Lady Geraldine, ** and fill the Httle note-book, 
which will soon turn to a ponderous quarto. I shall 
have a copy, bound in morocco, no doubt, from the 
author, if I behave myself prettily ; and I will earn it, 
by supplying valuable information. You shall see, 



86 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

my friends, how Fll deserve well of my country, if 
you'll only keep my counsel and your own countenances." 
Presently Lord Craiglethorpe entered the room, 
walking very pompously, and putting his note-book 
up as he advanced. 

" Oh, my dear lord, open the book again ; I have a 
bull for you." 

Lady Geraldine, after putting his lordship in good 
humour by this propitiatory offering of a bull, continued 
to supply him, either directly or indirectly, by some 
of her confederates, with the most absurd anecdotes, 
incredible facts, stale jests, and blunders, such as were 
never made by true-born Irishmen ; all which my Lord 
Craiglethorpe took down with an industrious sobriety, 
at which the spectators could scarcely refrain from 
laughing. Sometimes he would pause and exclaim, 
'' A capital anecdote ! a curious fact ! May I give my 
authority ? may I quote your ladyship ? " 

** Yes, if you'll pay me a compHment in the preface," 
whispered Lady Geraldine ; ** and now, dear cousin, 
do go upstairs and put it all in ink.^^ 

When she had despatched the noble author, her 
ladyship indulged her laughter. ** But now," cried she, 
** only imagine a set of sober English readers studying 
my cousin Craiglethorpe's New View of Ireland, and 
swallowing all the nonsense it will contain ! " 

When Lord Kilrush remonstrated against the cruelty 
of letting the man publish such stuff, and represented 
it as a fraud upon the public. Lady Geraldine laughed 
still more, and exclaimed, '* Surely you don't think 
I would use the public and my poor cousin so ill. No, 
I am doing him and the public the greatest possible 
service. Just when he is going to leave us, when the 



LADY GERALDINE. 87 

writing-box is packed, I will step up to him, and tell 
him the truth. I will show him what a farrago of non- 
sense he has collected as materials for his quarto ; and 
convince him at once how utterly unfit he is to write 
a book, at least a book on Irish affairs. Won't this be 
deserving well of my country and of my cousin ? '' 

Lady Geraldine's raillery, like all other things, would, 
perhaps, soon have become tiresome to me, but that 
there was infinite variety in her humour. At first I had 
thought her merely superficial, and intent solely upon 
her own amusement ; but I soon found that she had a 
taste for literature, beyond what could have been expected 
in one who lived so dissipated a life ; a depth of reflection 
that seemed inconsistent with the rapidity with which 
she thought ; and, above all, a degree of generous 
indignation against meanness and vice, which seemed 
incompatible with the selfish character of a fine lady, 
and which appeared quite incomprehensible to the imita- 
ting tribe of her fashionable companions. 

I mentioned a Mrs. Norton and Lady Hauton amongst 
the company of Ormsby Villa. These two English 
ladies, whom I had never met in any of the higher circles 
in London, who were persons of no consequence, and 
of no marked character in their own country, made, 
it seems, a prodigious sensation when they came over to 
Ireland, and turned the heads of half Dublin by the 
extravagance of their dress, the impertinence of their airs, 
and the audacity of their conduct. Fame flew before 
them to the remote parts of the country ; and when they 
arrived at Ormsby Villa, all the country gentlemen and 
ladies were prepared to admire these celebrated fashion- 
able belles. All worshipped them present, and abused 
them absent, except Lady Geraldine, who neither joined 



88 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

in the admiration nor inquired into the scandal One 
morning Mrs. Norton and Lady Hauton had each 
collected her votaries round her ; one group begging 
patterns of dress from Lady Hauton, who stood up in 
the midst of them, to have everything she wore examined 
and envied ; the other group sat on a sofa apart, listening 
to Mrs. Norton, who, sotto voce^ was telling interesting 
anecdotes of an English crim. con., which then occupied 
the attention of the fashionable world. Mrs. Norton 
had letters from the best authorities in London, which 
she was entreated by her auditors to read to them. 
Mrs. Norton went to look for the letters, Lady Hauton 
to direct her woman to furnish some patterns of I know 
not what articles of dress ; and, in the meantime, all the 
company joined in canvassing the merits and demerits 
of the dress and characters of the two ladies who had just 
left the room. Lady Geraldine, who had kept aloof, 
and who was examining some prints at the farther end 
of the room, at this instant laid down her book, and looked 
upon the whole party with an air of magnanimous 
disdain ; then smiling, as in scorn, she advanced towards 
them, and, in a tone of irony, addressing one of the 
Swanlinbar Graces, *' My dear Theresa," said her lady- 
ship, '' you are absolutely ashamed, I see, of not being 
quite naked ; and you, my good Bess, will, no doubt, 
very soon be equally scandalized, at the imputation 
of being a perfectly modest woman. Go on, my friends, 
go on, and prosper ; beg and borrow all the patterns 
and precedents you can collect of the newest fashions 
of folly and vice. Make haste, make haste ; they don't 
reach our remote island fast enough. We Irish might 
live in innocence half a century longer if you didn't 
expedite the progress of profligacy ; we might escape 



LADY GERALDINE. 89 

the plague that rages in neighbouring countries if we 
didn't, without any quarantine, and with open arms, 
welcome every suspected stranger ; if we didn't encourage 
the importation of whole bales of tainted fineries, that 
will spread the contagion from Dublin to Cork, and from 
Cork to Gal way ! " 

** La ! " said Miss Ormsby, ** how severe your lady- 
ship is ; and all only for one's asking for a pattern ! " 

** But you know," pursued Mrs. O'Connor, ** that 
Lady Geraldine is too proud to take pattern from any- 
body." 

** Too proud am I ? Well, then, I'll be humble ; 
I'll abase myself — shall I ? 

' Proud as I am, I'll put myself to school,' 

and I'll do what the ladies Hauton and Norton shall 
advise, to heighten my charms and preserve my reputa- 
tion. I must begin, must not I, Mrs. O'Connor, by 
learning not to blush ? for I observed you were ashamed 
for me yesterday at dinner, when I blushed at some- 
thing said by one of our fair missionaries. Then, to 
whatever lengths flirtations and gallantry may go between 
unmarried or married people, I must look on. I may shut 
my eyes, if I please, and look down ; but not from 
shame — from affectation I may as often as I please, 
or to show my eyelashes. Memorandum — to practise 
this before Clementina Ormsby, my mirror of fashion. 
So far, so good, for my looks ; but now for my language. 
I must reform my barbarous language, and learn from 
Mrs. Norton, with her pretty accommodating voice, 
to call an intrigue an arrangement, and a crim. con. an 
affair in Doctors' Commons , or that business before the 
Lords. 

' We never mentiou Hell to ears polite.* 



90 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

How virtuous we shall be when we have no name for 
vice ! But stay, I must mmd my lessons — I have more, 
much more to learn. From the dashing Lady Hauton 
I may learn, if my head be but strong and my courage 
intrepid enough, ' to touch the brink of all we hate,' 
without tumbling headlong into the gulf ; and from the 
interesting Mrs. Norton, as I hear it whispered amongst 
you ladies, I may learn how, with the assistance of a 
Humane-society, to save a half-drowned reputation. 
It is, I understand, the glory of one class of fashionable 
females to seem worse then they are ; and of another 
class the privilege to be worse than they seem." 

Here clamorous voices interrupted Lady Geraldine — 
some justifying, some attacking. Lady Hauton and Mrs. 
Norton. 

'* Oh ! Lady Geraldine, I assure you, notwithstanding 
all that was said about General — — and Mrs. Norton, 
I am convinced there was nothing in it." 

'' And, my dear Lady Geraldine, though Lady Hauton 
does go great lengths in coquetting with a certain 
lord, you must see that there's nothing wrong; and 
that she means nothing but to provoke his lady's 
jealousy. You know his lordship is not a man to fall in 
love with." 

'' So, because Lady Hauton's passion is hatred instead 
of love, and because her sole object is to give pain to a poor 
wife, and to make mischief in families, all her sins are 
to be forgiven ! Now, if I were forced to forgive any 
ill-conducted female, I would rather excuse the woman 
who is hurried on by love than she who is instigated by 
hatred.'^ 

Miss Bland now began to support her ladyship's 
opinion, that '' Lady Hauton was much the worst 



LADY GERALDINE. 9 1 

of the two " ; and all the scandal that was in cir- 
culation was produced by the partisans of each of these 
ladies. 

'' No matter, no matter, which is the worst," cried 
Lady Geraldine ; '' don't let us waste our time in repeat- 
ing or verifying scandalous stories of either of them. 
I have no enmity to these ladies ; I only despise them, or 
rather, their follies and their faults. It is not the sinner, 
but the sin we should reprobate. Oh ! my dear country- 
women," cried Lady Geraldine, with increasing animation 
of countenance and manner — ** Oh ! my dear country- 
women, let us never stoop to admire and imitate these 
second-hand airs and graces, follies and vices. Let us 
dare to be ourselves ! " 

My eyes were fixed upon her animated countenance, 
and, I believe, I continued gazing after even her voice 
ceased. 

'' Pray, my lord," said she, '' you who have lived so 
much in the great world in England, say, for you can, 
whether I am right or wrong in my suspicion, that these 
ladies, who have made such a noise in Ireland, have 
been little heard of in England ? " 

I confirmed her ladyship's opinion by my evidence. 
The faces of the company changed. Thus, in a few 
seconds, the empire of Lady Hauton and of Mrs. Norton 
seemed shaken to the foundation, and never recovered 
from this shock. 

Glenthom finally proposed to I^ady Geraldine, who, to her mother's 
consternation, refused him, as she was attached to another member 
of the house-party, Mr. Cecil Devereux. Glenthom exerted his 
political influence to obtain for Devereux, who w^as too poor to 
marry, an appointment in India, and so brought about the lovers' 
marriage. 



92 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



THE 'NINETY-EIGHT. 



I remember to have heard in some epilogue to a tragedy 
that the tide of pity and of love, whilst it overwhelms, 
fertilizes the soul. That it may deposit the seeds of 
future fertilization, I believe ; but some time must elapse 
before they germinate ; on the first retiring of the tide 
the prospect is barren and desolate. I was absolutely 
inert, and almost imbecile for a considerable time, after 
the extraordinary stimulus, by which I had been actuated, 
was withdrawn. I was in this state of apathy when the 
rebellion broke out in Ireland ; nor was I roused in the 
least by the first news of the disturbances. The intelli- 
gence, however, so much alarmed my English servants 
that, with one accord, they left me ; nothing could 
persuade them to remain longer in Ireland. The parting 
with my English gentleman affected my lethargic selfish- 
ness a little. His loss would have been grievous to 
such a helpless being as I was, had not his place been 
immediately supplied by that half-witted Irishman, 
Joe Kelly, who had ingratiated himself with me by a 
mixture of drollery and simplicity, and by suffering 
himself to be continually my laughing-stock ; for, in 
imitation of Lady Geraldine, I thought it necessary to 
have a butt. I remember he first caught my notice 
by a strange answer to a very simple question. I asked ,^ 
*' What noise is that I hear ? " '' My lord," said he, 
'* it is only the singing in my ears ; I have had it these 
six months." Another time, when I reproached him 
for having told me a lie, he answered, *' Why, now 
indeed, and plase your honour, my lard, I tell as few lies 



THE 'ninety-eight. 93 

as possibly I can.'' This fellow, the son of a bricklayer, 
had originally been intended for a priest, and he went, 
as he told me, to the College of Maynooth to study 
his humanities ; but, unluckily, the charms of some 
Irish Heloise came between him and the altar. He lived 
in a cabin of love till he was weary of his smoke-dried 
Heloise, and then thought it convanient to turn sarving 
man, as he could play on the flute, and brush a coat 
remarkably well, which he lamed at Maynooth, by 
brushing the coats of the superiors. Though he was 
willing to be laughed at, Joe Kelly could in his turn 
laugh ; and he now ridiculed, without mercy, the pusil- 
lanimity of the English renegadoes, as he called the servants 
who had just left my service. He assured me that, to 
his knowledge, there was no manner of danger, excepted 
a man pre jarred being afraid of his own shadow y which 
some didy rather than have nothing to talk of, or enter into 
resolutions about with some of the spirited men in the chair. 

Unwilling to be disturbed, I readily believed all that 
lulled me in my security. I would not be at the trouble 
of reading the public papers ; and when they were read 
to me, I did not credit any paragraph that militated 
against my own opinion. Nothing could awaken me. 
I remember, one day, lying yawning on my sofa, repeat- 
ing to Mr. M*Leod, who endeavoured to open my eyes 
to the situation of the country, ** Pshaw, my dear sir ; 
there is no danger, be assured — none at all — none at all. 
For mercy's sake ! talk to me of something more divert- 
ing, if you would keep me awake ; time enough to think 
of these things when they come nearer to us." 

Evils that were not immediately near me had no power 
to affect my imagination. My tenantry had not yet 
been contaminated by the epidemic infection, which 



94 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

broke out soon after with such violence as to threaten 
the total destruction of all civil order. I had lived in 
England — I was unacquainted with the causes and the 
progress of the disease, and I had no notion of my danger ; 
all I knew was, that some houses had been robbed of 
arms, and that there was a set of desperate wretches 
called defenders ; but I was annoyed only by the rout 
that was now made about them. Having been used 
to the regular course of justice which prevailed in England, 
I was more shocked at the summary proceedings of my 
neighbours than alarmed at the symptoms of insurrections. 
Whilst my mind was in this mood, I was provoked by 
the conduct of some of the violent party, which wounded 
my personal pride, and infringed upon my imagined 
consequence. My foster-brother's forge was searched 
for pikes, his house ransacked, his bed and hellowSy as 
possible hiding places, were cut open ; by accident, or 
from private malice, he received a shot in his arm ; and 
though not the slightest cause of suspicion could be 
found against him, the party left him with a broken arm, 
and the consolation of not being sent to jail as a defender. 
Without making any allowance for the peculiar circum- 
stances of the country, my indignation was excited in 
the extreme by the injury done to my foster-brother ; 
his sufferings, the tears of his mother, the taunts of Mr. 
(now Captain) Hardcastle, and the opposition made by 
his party, called forth all the faculties of my mind and 
body. The poor fellow, who was the subject of this 
contest, showed the best disposition imaginable ; he 
was excessively grateful to me for interesting myself 
to get him justice ; but as soon as he found that parties 
ran high against me, he earnestly dissuaded me from 
persisting. 



THE 'ninety-eight. 95 

" Let it drop, and plase your honour ; my lord, let 
it drop, and don't be making of yourself inimies for the 
likes of me. Sure, what signifies my arm ? and before 
the next assizes sha'n't I be as well as ever, arm and 
all ? " continued he, trying to appear to move the arm 
without pain. ** And there's the new bellows your 
honour has give me ; it does my heart good to look 
at 'em, and it won't be long before I will be blowing 
them again as stout as ever ; and so God bless your 
honour, my lord, and think no more about it — let it 
drop entirely, and don't be bringing yourself into 
trouble." 

*' Ay, don't be bringing yourself into trouble, dear," 
added EUinor, who seemed half distracted between her 
feelings for her son and her fears for me ; ** it's a shame 
to think of the way they've treated Christy — but there's 
no help now, and it's best not to be making bad worse ; 
and so, as Christy says, let the thing drop, jewel, and 
don't be bringing yourself into trouble ; you don't know 
the natur of them people, dear — you are too innocent 
for them entirely, and myself does not know the mischief 
they might do yees.'' 

** True for ye," pursued Christy ; " I wouldn't for 
the best cow ever I see that your honour ever larnt a 
sentence about me or my arm ; and it is not for such 
as we to be minding every little accident — so God lend 
you long life, and don't be plaguing yourself to death ! 
Let it drop, and I'll sleep well the night, which I did not 
do the week, for thinking of all the trouble you got, and 
would get, God presarve ye ! " 

This generous fellow's eloquence produced an effect 
directly contrary to what was intended ; both my feelings 
and my pride were now more warmly^ iatetested in his 



96 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

cause. I insisted upon his swearing examinations before 
Mr. M'Leod, who was a justice of the peace. Mr. 
M*Leod behaved with the utmost steadiness and imparti- 
aHty ; and in this trying moment, when " it was infamy 
to seem my friend/' he defended my conduct calmly, 
but resolutely, in private and in public, and gave his 
unequivocal testimony, in few but decided words, in 
favour of my injured tenant. I should have respected Mr. 
MXeod more if I had not attributed this conduct to 
his desire of being returned for one of my boroughs 
at the approaching election. He endeavoured, with 
persevering goodness, to convince me of the reality of the 
danger in the country. My eyes were with much 
difficulty forced open so far as to perceive that it was 
necessary to take an active part in public affairs to vindi- 
cate my loyalty, and to do away the prejudices that were 
entertained against me ; nor did my incredulity, as to the 
magnitude of the peril, prevent me from making exertions 
essential to the defence of my own character, if not to 
that of the nation. How few act from purely patriotic 
and rational motives ! At all events I acted, and acted 
with energy ; and certainly at this period of my life I 
felt no ennui. Party spirit is an effectual cure for ennui ; 
and perhaps it is for this reason that so many are addicted 
to its intemperance. All my passions were roused, and 
my mind and body kept in continual activity. I was 
either galloping, or haranguing, or fearing, or hoping, or 
fighting ; and so long as it was said that I could not sleep 
in my bed, I slept remarkably well, and never had so 
good an appetite as when I was in hourly danger of 
having nothing to eat. The rebels were up, and the rebels 
were down — and Lord Glenthorn's spirited conduct in 
the chair, and indefatigable exertions in the field, were the 



THE 'ninety-eight. 97 

theme of daily eulogium amongst my convivial com- 
panions and immediate dependants. But, unfortunately, 
my sudden activity gained me no credit amongst the 
violent party of my neighbours, who persisted in their 
suspicions ; and my reputation was now still more 
injured by the alternate charge of being a trimmer or a 
traitor. Nay, I was further exposed to another danger, 
of which, from my ignorance of the country, I could 
not possibly be aware. The disaffected themselves, 
as I afterwards found, really believed that, as I had not 
begun by persecuting the poor, I must be a favourite 
of the rebels ; and all that I did to bring the guilty to 
justice, they thought was only to give a colour to the thing, 
till the proper moment should come for my declaring 
myself. Of this absurd and perverse mode of judging 
I had not the slightest conception ; and I only laughed 
when it was hinted to me. My treating the matter so 
lightly confirmed suspicion on both sides. At this time 
all objects were so magnified and distorted by the mist 
of prejudice, that no inexperienced eye could judge of 
their real proportions. Neither party could believe the 
simple truth, that my tardiness to act arose from the 
habitual inertia of my mind and body. 

Whilst prepossessions were thus strong, the time, 
the important time, in Ireland, the most important 
season of the year, the assizes, arrived. My foster- 
brother's cause, or, as it was now generally called. Lord 
Glenthorn's cause, came on to be tried. I spared no 
expense, I spared no exertions ; I fee'd the ablest counsel ; 
and not content with leaving them to be instructed by 
my attorney, I explained the affair to them myself with 
indefatigable zeal. One of the lawyers whom I had seen, 
or by whom I had been seen, in my former inert state of 



98 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

existence, at some watering-place in England, could 
not refrain from expressing his astonishment at my 
change of character ; he could scarcely believe that I was 
the same Lord Glenthorn, of whose indolence and 
ennui he had formerly heard and seen so much. 

Alas ! all my activity, all my energy, on the present 
occasion proved ineffectual. After a dreadful quantity 
of false swearing, the jury professed themselves satisfied ; 
and, without retiring from the box, acquitted the persons 
who had assaulted my foster-brother. The mortification 
of this legal defeat was not all that I had to endure ; the 
victorious party mobbed me, as I passed some time' 
afterwards through a neighbouring town, where Captain 
Hardcastle and his friends had been carousing. I was 
hooted, and pelted, and narrowly escaped with my Hfe 
— / who, but a few months ago, had imagined myself 
possessed of nearly despotic power ; but opinions had 
changed ; and on opinion almost all power is founded. 
No individual, unless he possess uncommon eloquence, 
joined to personal intrepidity, can withstand the com- 
bination of numbers and the force of prejudice. 

Such was the result of my first public exertions ! Yet 
I was now happier and better satisfied with myself than 
I had ever been before. I was not only conscious of 
having acted in a manly and generous manner, but the 
alarms of the rebels, and of the French, and of the loyal- 
ists, and the parading, and the galloping, and the quarrell- 
ing, and the continual agitation in which I was kept, 
whilst my character and life were at stake, relieved me 
eflPectually from the intolerable burden of ennui. 

Unfortunately /or m^, the rebellion in Ireland was soon 
quelled the nightly scouring of our county ceased ; 
the poor people returned to their duty and their homes ; 



THE 'ninety-eight. 99 

the occuaption of upstart and ignorant associators ceased, 
and their consequence sunk at once. Things and persons 
settled to their natural level. The influence of men of 
property, and birth, and education, and character, once 
more prevailed. The spirit of party ceased to operate ; 
my neighbours wakened, as if from a dream, and won- 
dered at the strange injustice with which I had been 
treated. Those who had lately been my combined 
enemies were disunited, and each was eager to assure me 
that he had always been privately my friend^ but that he 
was compelled to conceal his sentiments ; each excul- 
pated himself, and threw the blame on others ; all 
apologized to me, and professed to be my most devoted 
humble servants. My popularity, my power, and my 
prosperity were now at ihGir ztnith, unfortunately forme y 
because my adversity had not lasted long enough to form 
and season my character. 

I remember hearing, some years afterwards, a French- 
man, who had been in imminent danger of being guillo- 
tined by Robespierre, and who at last was one of those 
who arrested the tyrant, declare, that when the bustle 
and horror of the revolution were over, he could hardly 
keep himself awake ; and that he thought it very insipid 
to live in quiet with his wife and family. He further 
summed up the catalogue of Robespierre's crimes by 
exclaiming, '' D'ailleurs c'etoit un grand philanthrope ! " 
I am not conscious of any disposition to cruelty, and I 
heard this man's speech with disgust ; yet, upon a candid 
self-examination, I must confess that I have felt, though 
from different causes, some degree of what he described. 
Perhaps ennui may have had a share in creating revolu- 
tions. A French author pronounces ennui to be " a 
moral indigestion, caused by a monotony of situations ! " 



100 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

I had no wife or family to make domestic life agreeable ; 
nor was I inclined to a second marriage, my first had 
proved so unfortunate, and the recollection of my dis- 
appointment with Lady Geraldine was so recent. Even 
the love of power no longer acted upon me ; my power 
was now undisputed. My jealousy and suspicions of my 
agent, Mr. M*Leod, were about this time completely 
conquered, by his behaviour at a general election. I 
perceived that he had no underhand design upon my 
boroughs ; and that he never attempted or wished to 
interfere in my affairs, except at my particular desire. 
My confidence in him became absolute and unbounded ; 
but this was really a misfortune to me, for it became 
the cause of my having still less to do. I gave up all 
business, and from all manner of trouble I was now free ; 
yet I became more and more unhappy, and my nervous 
complaints returned. 



THE GIANTS' CAUSEWAY AND KILLARNEY. 

I fancied that change of air and change of place would 
do me good ; and, as it was fine summer weather, I 
projected various parties of pleasure. The Giants' 
Causeway and the Lake of Killarney were the only 
things I had ever heard mentioned as worth seeing in 
Ireland. I suflfered myself to be carried into the county 
of Antrim, and I saw the Giants' Causeway. From 
the description given by Dr. Hamilton of some of those 
wonders of nature, the reader may judge how much I 
ought to have been astonished and delighted. 



THE giants' causeway AND KILLARNEY. lOI 

In the bold promontory of Bengore you behold, as 
you look up from the sea, a gigantic colonnade of basaltes, 
supporting a black mass of irregular rock, over which 
rises another range of pillars, '' forming altogether a 
perpendicular height of one hundred and seventy feet, 
from the base of which the promontory, covered over 
with rock and grass, slopes down to the sea, for the space 
of two hundred feet more ; making, in all, a mass of near 
four hundred feet in height, which, in the beauty and 
variety of its colouring, in elegance and novelty of 
arrangement, and in the extraordinary magnificence of 
its objects, cannot be rivalled." 

Yet I was seized with a fit of yawning, as I sat in my 
pleasure-boat, to admire this sublime spectacle. I 
looked at my watch, observed that we should be late for 
dinner, and grew impatient to be rowed back to the place 
where we were to dine ; not that I was hungry, but I 
wanted to be again set in motion. Neither science nor 
taste expanded my view ; and I saw nothing worthy of 
my admiration, or capable of giving me pleasure. The 
watching a straw floating down the tide was the only 
amusement I recollect to have enjoyed upon this excur- 
sion. 

I was assured, however, by Lady Ormsby, that I 
could not help being enchanted with the Lake of 
Killarney. The party was arranged by this lady, who, 
having the preceding summer seen me captivated by 
Lady Geraldine, and pitying my disappointment, had 
formed the obHging design of restoring my spirits, 
and marrying me to one of her near relatives. She 
calculated that, as I had been charmed by Lady Gerald- 
ine 's vivacity, I must be enchanted with the fine spirits 
of Lady Jocunda Lawler. So far were the thoughts 



102 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

of marriage from my imagination, that I only was sorry 
to find a young lady smuggled into our party, because I 
was afraid she would be troublesome ; but I resolved 
to be quite passive upon all occasions, where attentions 
to the fair sex are sometimes expected. My arm, or 
my hand, or my assistance, in any manner, I was deter- 
mined not to offer ; the lounging indifference which 
some fashionable young men affect towards ladies 
I really felt ; and, besides, nobody minds unmarried 
women ! This fashion was most convenient to my 
indolence. In my state of torpor I was not, however, 
long left in peace. Lady Jocunda was a high-bred romp, 
who made it a rule to say and do whatever she pleased. 
In a hundred indirect ways I was called upon to admire 
her charming spirits ; but the rattling voice, loud laughter, 
flippant wit, and hoyden gaiety of Lady Jocunda dis- 
gusted me beyond expression. A thousand times on 
my journey I wished myself quietly asleep in my own 
castle. Arrived at Killarney, such blowing of horns, 
such boating, such seeing of prospects, such prosing 
of guides, all teUing us what to admire ! Then such 
exclamations, and such clambering ! I was walked and 
talked till I was half-dead. I wished the rocks, and 
the hanging- woods, and the glens, and the water-falls, 
and the arbutus, and the myrtles, and the upper and 
lower lakes, and the islands, and Mucruss, and Mucruss 
Abbey, and the purple mountain, and the eagle's nest, and 
the Grand Turk, and the lights and the shades, and the 
echoes, and, above all, the Lady Jocunda, fairly at the 
devil. 

A nobleman in the neighbourhood had the politeness to 
invite us to see a stag-hunt upon the water. The account 
of this diversion, which I had met with in my Guide to 



THE GIANTS* CAUSEWAY AND KILLARNKY. I03 

the Lakes, ^ promised well. I consented to stay another 
day ; that day I really was revived by this spectacle, 
for it was new. The sublime and the beautiful had no 
charms for me ; novelty was the only power that could 
waken me from my lethargy ; perhaps there was in this 
spectacle something more than novelty. The Romans 
had recourse to shows of wild beasts and gladiators to 
relieve their ennui. At all events, I was kept awake this 
whole morning, though I cannot say that I felt in such 
ecstasies as to be in any imminent danger of jumping out 
of the boat, 

* " The stag is roused from the woods that skirt Glenaa mountain, 
in which there are many of these animals that run wild ; the bottoms 
and sides of the mountains are covered with woods, and the declivi- 
ties are so long and steep that no horse could either make his way 
to the bottom, or climb these impracticable hills. It is impossible 
to follow the hunt, either on foot or on horseback. The spectator 
enjoys the diversion on the lake, where the cry of the hounds, 
the harmony of the horn, resounding from the hills on every side, 
the universal shouts of joy along the valleys and mountains, which 
are often lined with foot-people, who come in vast numbers to par- 
take and assist at the diversion, re-echo from hill to hill, and give 
the highest glee and satisfaction that the imagination can conceive 
possible to arise from the chase, and perhaps can nowhere be enjoyed 
with that spirit and subhme elevation of soul that a thorough-bred 
sportsman feels at a stag-hunt on the 3>ke of Klillamey. There is, 
however, one imminent danger which awaits him ; that in his 
raptures and ecstasies he may forget himself and jump out of the 
boat. When hotly pursued, and weary with the constant difficulty 
of making his way with his ramified antlers through the woods, 
the stag, terrified at the cry of his open-mouthed pursuers, almost 
at his heels, now looks toward the lake as his last resource — then 
pauses and looks upwards ; but the hills are insurmountable, and 
the woods refuse to shelter him — the hounds roar with redoubled 
fury at the sight of their victim — he plunges into the lake. He 
escapes but for a few minutes from one merciless enemy to fall into 
the hands of another — the shouting boatmen surroimd their victim 
— throw cords round his majestic antlers — ^he is haltered and dragged 
to shore ; while the big tears roll down his face, and his heaving 
sides and panting flanks speak his agonies, the keen searching 
knife drinks his blood, and savages exult at his expiring 
groan." 



104 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



TOURISTS' IMPRESSIONS. 

I could now boast that I had travelled all over Ireland, 
from north to south ; but, in fact, I had seen nothing of 
the country or of its inhabitants. In these commodious 
parties of pleasure everything had been provided to 
prevent the obstacles that roused my faculties. Accus- 
tomed by this time to the Hibernian tone, I fancied that 
I knew all that could be known of the Irish character ; 
familiarized with the comic expressions of the lower 
class of people, they amused me no longer. On this 
journey, however, I recollect making one observation, 
and once laughing at what I thought a practical bull. 
We saw a number of labourers at work in a bog, on a very 
hot day, with a fire lighted close to them. When I 
afterwards mentioned, before Mr. M'Leod, this circum- 
stance, which I had thought absurd, he informed me that 
the Irish labourers often light fires, that the smoke may 
drive away or destroy those myriads of tiny flies, called 
midges, by which they are often tormented so much, that 
without this remedy they would, in hot and damp 
weather, be obliged to abandon their work. Had I been 
sufficiently active during my journey to pen a journal, 
I should certainly, without further inquiry, have noted 
down that the Irish labourers always light fires in the 
hottest weather to cool themselves ; and thus I should 
have added one more to the number of cursory travellers 
who expose their own ignorance, whilst they attempt 
to ridicule local customs, of which they have not inquired 
the cause or discovered the utility. 

A foreigner, who has lately written Letters on England, 



tourists' impressions. 105 

has given a laughable instance of this promptitude of 
misapprehension. He says he had heard much of the 
venality of the British Parliament, but he had no idea 
of the degree to which it extended till he actually was an 
eye-witness of the scene. The moment the minister 
entered the House, all the members ran about exclaiming, 
** Places ! places ! '' which means, Give us places — give 
us places. 

My heavy indolence fortunately preserved me from 
exposing myself, like these volatile tourists. I was at 
least secure from the danger of making mistakes in telling 
what I never saw. 

As to the mode of living of the Irish, their domestic 
comforts or grievances, their habits and opinions, their 
increasing or decreasing ambition to better their condi- 
tion, the proportion between the population and the 
quantity of land cultivated or capable of cultivation, the 
difference between the profits of the husbandman and 
the artificer, the relation between the nominal wages of 
labour and the actual command over the necessaries of 
life — these were questions wholly foreign to my thoughts, 
and, at this period of my life, absolutely beyond the range 
of my understanding. I had travelled through my own 
country without making even a single remark upon the 
various degrees of industry and civilization visible in 
different parts of the kingdom. In fact, it never occurred 
to me that it became a British nobleman to have some 
notion of the general state of that empire, in the legislation 
of which he has a share ; nor had I the slightest suspicion 
that political economy was a study requisite or suitable to 
my rank in life or situation in society. Satisfied with 
having seen all that is worth seeing in Ireland, the Giants' 
Causeway and the Lake of Killarney, I was now impatient 



I06 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

to return to England. During the rebellion I could not, 
with honour, desert my post ; but now that tranquillity 
was apparently restored, I determined to quit a country 
of which my partial knowledge had in every respect been 
unfortunate. 



THE PLOT AGAINST GLENTHORN 

When the first grey light of morning began to make 
objects indistinctly visible, I thought I saw the door of 
my apartment open very softly. I was broad awake, 
and kept my eyes fixed upon it — it opened by very slow 
degrees ; my head was so full of visions that I expected 
a ghost to enter — but it was only EUinor. 

** Ellinor ! " cried I ; *' is it you at this time in the 
morning ? '* 

'' Hush ! hush ! " said she, shutting the door with 
great precaution, and then coming on tiptoe close to my 
bedside ; '' for the love of God, speak softly, and make 
no stir to awake them that's asleep near and too near 
you. It's unknown to all that I come up ; for maybe 
when them people are awake and about, I might not get 
the opportunity to speak, or they might guess I knew 
something by my looks." 

Her looks were full of terror — I was all amazement 
and expectation. Before she w^ould say a word more, 
she searched the closets carefully, and looked behind the 
tapestry, as if she apprehended that she might be over- 
heard ; satisfied that we were alone, she went on speaking, 
but still in a voice that, with my utmost strained attention, 
I could but just hear. 



THE PLOT AGAINST GLENTHORN. IO7 

" As you hope to live and breathe," said she, " never 
go again after night-fall any time walking in that lone 
place by the sea-shore. It's a mercy you escaped 
as you did ; but if you go again you'll never come back 
alive — for never would they get you to do what they want, 
and to be as wicked as themselves — the wicked villains ! " 

" Who ? " said I. " What wicked villains ? I do 
not understand you. Are you in your right senses ? " 

** That I am, and wish you was as much in yours ; 
but it's time yet, by the blessing of God ! What wicked 
villains am I talking of ? Of three hundred that have 
sworn to make you their captain, or, in case you refuse, 
to have your life this night. What villains am I talking 
of ? Of him, the wickedest of all, who is now living 
in the very house with you, that is now lying in the 
very next room to you." 

'' Joe Kelly ? " 

** That same. From the first minute I saw him in 
the castle, I should have hated him, but for his causing 
you for to put off the journey to England. I never 
could abide him ; but that blinded me, or I am sure 
I would have found hini out long ago." 

** And w^hat have you found out concerning him ? " 

'* That he is (speaking very low) a united-man^ and 
stirring up the rubbles again here ; and they have their 
meetings at night in the great cave, where the smugglers 
used to hide formerly, under the big rock, opposite the 
old abbey — and there's a way up into the abbey, that you 
used to be so fond of walking to, dear." 

" Good Heavens ! can this be true ? " 

" True it is, and too true, dear." 

** But how did you find all this out, Ellinor ? " 

" It was none of I found it, nor ever could any such 



I08 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

things have come into my head — but it pleased God to 
make the discovery of all by one of the childer — ^my own 
grandson — the boy you gave the gun to, long and long 
ago, to shoot them rabbits. He was after a hare yester- 
day, and it took him a chase over that mountain, and down 
it went and took shelter in the cave, and in went the boy 
after it, and as he was groping about, he lights on an old 
great coat ; and he brought it home with him, and was 
showing it, as I was boiling the potatoes for their dinner 
yesterday, to his father forenent me ; and turning the 
pockets inside out, what should come up but the broken head 
of a pike ; then he sarches in the other pocket, and finds a 
paper written all over — I could not read it — thank God, 
I never could read none of them wicked things, nor 
could the boy — by very great luck he could not, being no 
scholar, or it would be all over the country before 
this.'' 

" Well, well ! but what was in the paper after all ? 
Did anybody read it ? '* 

** Ay, did they — that is, Christy read it — none but 
Christy— but he would not tell us what was in it — but 
said it was no matter, and he'd not be wasting his time 
reading an old song — so we thought no more, and he sent 
the boy up to the castle with a bill for smith's work, as 
soon as we had eat the potatoes, and I thought no more 
about any things being going wrong, no more than a 
child ; and in the evening Christy said he must go to the 
funeral of a neighbour, and should not be home till 
early in the morning, maybe ; and it's not two hours 
since he came home and wakened me, and told me where 
he had been, which was not to the funeral at all, but to 
the cave where the coat was found ; and he put the coat 
and the broken head of the pike, and the papers all in 



THE PLOT AGAINST GLENTHORN. IO9 

the pockets, just as we found it, in the cave^ — and the 
paper was a Hst of the names of them rubbles that met 
there, and a letter telHng how they would make Lord 
Glenthorn their captain, or have his life ; this was what 
made Christy to try and find out more — so he hid hisself 
in a hole in the side of the cave, and built hisself up with 
rubbish, only just leaving a place for hisself to breathe — 
and there he stayed till nightfall ; and then on till mid- 
night, God help us !^ — so, sure enough, them villains all 
come filling fast into the cave. He had good courage, God 
bless him for it — but he always had — and there he heard 
and saw all- — and this was how they were talking : — First, 
one began by saying how they must not be delaying 
longer to show themselves ; they must make a rising in 
the country — then named the numbers in other parts 
that would join, and that they would not be put down so 
asy as afore, for they would have good leaders — then some 
praised you greatly, and said they was sure you favoured 
them in your heart, by all the ill-will you got in the county 
the time of the last 'ruction. But, again, others said 
you was milk and water, and did not go far enough, and 
never would, and that it was not in you, and that you was 
a sleepy man, and not the true thing at all, and neither 
beef nor vaeL Again, thim that were for you spoke and 
said you would show yourself soon — and the others made 
reply, and observed you must now spake out, or never 
spake more ; you must either head 'em, or be tramped 
under foot along with the rest, so it did not signify 
talking, and Joey Kelly should not be fribbling any more 
about it ; and it was a wonder, said they, he was not the 
night at the meeting. And w^hat was this about your 
being going oflF for England — what would they do when 
you was gone with M'Leod the Scotchman, to come in 



no MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

over them again agent, who was another guess sort of 
man from you, and never slept at all, and would scent 
'em out, and have his corps after 'em, and that once 
MXeod was master there would be no making any head 
again his head ; so, not to be tiring you too much with 
all they said, backward and forward, one that was a 
captain, or something that way, took the word, and bid 
'em all hold their peace, for they did not know what they 
was talking on, and said that Joey Kelly and he had 
settled it all, and that the going to England was put off 
by Joe, and all a sham, and that when you would be walk- 
ing out to-morrow at nightfall, in those lone places by the 
sea-side or the abbey, he and Joe was to seize upon you, 
and when you would be coming back near the abbey, 
to have you down through the trap-door into the cave, 
and anyway they would swear you to join and head them, 
and if you would not, out with you, and shove you 
into the sea, and no more about it, for it would be give out 
you drown' yourself in a fit of the melancholy lunacy, 
which none would question, and it would be proved too 
you made away wid yourself, by your hat and gloves 
lying on the bank — Lord save us ! What are you laugh- 
ing at in that, when it is truth every word, and Joe 
Kelly was to find the body, after a great search. Well, 
again, say you would swear and join them, and head 
them, and do whatever they pleased, still that would not 
save you in the end ; for they would quarrel with you 
at the first turn, because you would not be ruled by them 
as captain, and then they would shoot or pike you (God 
save the mark, dear), and give the castle to Joe Kelly, 
and the plunder all among 'em entirely. So it was all 
laid out, and they are all to meet in the cave to-morrow 
evening — they will go along bearing a funeral, seemmgly 



THE PLOT AGAINST GLENTHORN. Ill 

to the abbey-ground. And now you know the whole 
truth, and the Lord preserve you ! And what will be 
done ? My poor head has no more pov/er to think 
for you no more than an infant's, and I'm all in a tremble 
ever since I heard it, and afraid to meet anyone lest 
they should see all in my face. Oh, what will become of 
yees now — they will be the death of you, whatever you 
do!" 

By the time she came to these last words, EUinor's 
fears had so much overpowered her, that she cried and 
sobbed continually, repeating — '' What will be done 
now ! What will be done ! They'll surely be the death 
of you, whatever you do." As to me, the urgency of the 
danger wakened my faculties ; I rose instantly, wrote a 
note to Mr. M'Leod, desiring to see him immediately 
on particular business. Lest my note should by any 
accident be intercepted or opened, I couched it in the 
most general and guarded terms ; and added a request 
that he would bring his last settlement of accounts with 
him ; so that it was natural to suppose my business with 
him was of a pecuniary nature. I gradually quieted poor 
Ellinor by my own appearance of composure ; I assured 
her that we should take our measures so as to prevent 
all mischief — thanked her for the timely warning she had 
given me — advised her to go home before she was ob- 
served, and charged her not to speak to anyone this day 
of what had happened. I desired that as soon as she 
should see Mr. M'Leod coming through the gate, she 
would send Christy after him to the castle, to get his bill 
paid ; so that I might then, without exciting suspicion, 
talk to him in private, and we might learn from his own 
lips the particulars of what he saw and heard in the 
cavern. 



112 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Ellinor returned home, promising to obey me exactly, 
especially as to my injunction of secrecy — to make sure of 
herself she said '' she would go to bed straight, and have 
the rheumatism very bad all day ; so as not to be in a way 
to talk to none who would call in." The note to 
MXeod was despatched by one of my grooms, and I, 
returning to bed, was now left at full leisure to finish 
my morning's nap. 

Joe Kelly presented himself at the usual hour in my 
room ; I turned my head away from him, and, in a sleepy 
tone, muttered that I had passed a bad night, and should 
breakfast in my own apartment. 

Some time afterwards Mr. M'Leod arrived, with an 
air of sturdy pride, and produced his accounts, of which 
I suffered him to talk till the servant who waited upon 
us had left the room ; I then explained the real cause 
of my sending for him so suddenly. I was rather vexed 
that I could not produce in him, by my wonderful 
narrative, any visible signs of agitation or astonishment. 
He calmly observed — *' We are lucky to have so many 
hours of daylight before us. The first thing we have to 
do is to keep the old woman from talking.'' 

I answered for Ellinor. 

" Then the next thing is for me, who am a magistrate, to 
take the examinations of her son, and see if he will swear 
to the same that he says." 

Christy was summoned into our presence, and he came 
with his bill for smith's work done ; so that the servants 
could have no suspicion of what was going forward. 
His examinations were taken and sworn to in a few 
minutes ; his evidence was so clear and direct that there 
was no possibiHty of doubting the truth. The only 
variation between his story and his mother's report to 



THE PLOT AGAINST GLENTHORN. II3 

me was as to the numbers he had seen in the cavern — 
her fears had turned thirteen into three hundred. 

Christy assured us that there were but thirteen at this 
meeting, but that they said there were three hundred 
ready to join them. 

" You were a very bold fellow, Christy," said I, ** to 
hazard yourself in the cave with these villains ; if you 
had been found out in your hiding-place they would 
have certainly murdered you." 

** True for me," said Christy ; '* but a man must die 
some way, please your honour ; and where 's the way I 
could die better ? Sure, I could not but remember 
how good you was to me that time I was shot, and all 
you suffered for it ! It would have been bad indeed 
if I would stay quiet, and let 'em murder you after all. 
No, no, Christy O'Donoghoe would not do that — 
anyway. I hope, if there's to be any fighting, your 
honour would not wrong me so much as not to give me 
a blunderbush, and let me fight a bit along wid de rest 
for yees." 

" We are not come to that yet, my good fellow," said 
Mr. M*Leod, who went on methodically ; ** if you are 
precipitate, you will spoil all. Go home to your forge, 
and work as usual, and leave the rest to us ; and I promise 
that you shall have your share, if there is any fighting." 

Very reluctantly Christy obeyed. Mr. M'Leod then 
deliberately settled our plan of operations. I had a 
fishing-lodge at a little distance, and a pleasure-boat 
there ; to this place M'Leod was to go, as if on a fishing- 
party with his nephew, a young man, who often went 
there to fish. They were to carry with them some 
yeomen in coloured clothes, as their attendants, and more 
were to come as their guests to dinner. At the lodge 



114 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

there was a small four-pounder, which had been fre- 
quently used in times of public rejoicing ; a naval 
victory, announced in the papers of the day, afforded 
a plausible pretence for bringing it out. We were aware 
that the rebels would be upon the watch, and, therefore, 
took every precaution to prevent their suspecting that we 
had made any discovery. Our fishing-party was to let 
the mock funeral pass them quietly, to ask some trifling 
questions, and to give money for pipes and tobacco. 
Towards evening the boat, with the four-pounder on 
board, was to come under shore, and at a signal given 
by me was to station itself opposite to the mouth of the 
cave. 

At the same signal a trusty man on the w^atch was to 
give notice to a party hid in the abbey to secure the trap- 
door above. The signal was to be my presenting a pistol 
to the captain of the rebels, who intended to meet and 
seize me on my return from my evening's walk. Mr. 
M'Leod at first objected to my hazarding a meetiitg with 
this man ; but I insisted upon it, and I was not sorry 
to give a public proof of my loyalty and my personal 
couraf?^. As to Joe Kelly, I also undertook to secure 
him. 

Mr. M'Leod left me, and went to conduct his fishing- 
party. As soon as he was gone, I sent for Joe Kelly to 
play on the flute to me. I guarded my looks and voice 
as well as I could, and he did not see or suspect anything — 
he was too full of his own schemes. To disguise his own 
plots he affected great gaiety ; and to divert me, alter- 
nately played on the flute, and told me good stories all the 
morning. I would not let him leave me the whole day. 
Towards evening I began to talk of my journey to Eng- 
land, proposed setting out the next morning, and sent 



THE PLOT AGAINST GLENTHORN. II5 

Kelly to look for some things in what was called the 
strong closet — a closet with a stout door and iron-barred 
windows, out of which no mortal could make his escape. 
Whilst he was busy searching in a drawer, I shut the door 
upon him, locked it, and put the key into my pocket. 
As I left the castle, I said in a jesting tone to some of the 
servants who met me — '' I have locked Joe Kelly up in 
the strong room ; if he calls to you to let him out never 
mind him ; he will not get out till I come home from my 
walk — I owe him this trick." The servants thought it 
was some jest, and I passed on with my loaded pistols 
in my pocket. I walked for some time by the sea-shore, 
without seeing anyone. At last I espied our fishing- 
boat, just peering out, and then keeping close to the shore. 
I was afraid that the party would be impatient at not 
seeing my signal, and would come out to the mouth of 
the cave, and show themselves too soon. If Mr. MXeod 
had not been their commander, this, as I afterwards 
learned, would have infallibly happened ; but he was so 
punctual, cool, and peremptory, that he restrained the rest 
of the party, declaring that, if it were till midnight, he 
v/ould wait till the signal agreed upon was given. At 
last I saw a man creeping out of the cave — I sat down 
upon my wonted stone, and yawned as naturally as I 
could ; then began to describe figures in the sand with 
my stick, as I was wont to do, still watching the image 
of the man in the water as he approached. He was 
muffled up in a frieze great coat ; he sauntered past, and 
went on to a turn in the road, as if looking for someone. 
I knew well for whom he was looking. As no Joe Kelly 
came to meet him, he returned in a few minutes towards 
me. I had my hand upon the pistol in my pocket. 
" You are my Lard Glenthorn, I presume," said he. 



Il6 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" I am." 

** Then you will come with me, if you plase, my lard," 
said he. 

" Make no resistance, or I will shoot you instantly," 
cried I, presenting my pistol with one hand, and seizing 
him by the collar with the other. I dragged him (for 
I had force enough, now my energy was roused) to the 
spot appointed for my signal. The boat appeared 
opposite the mouth of the cave. Everything answered 
my expectation. 

'* There," said I, pointing to the boat, " there are my 
armed friends ; they have a four-pounder — the match is 
ready lighted — your plot is discovered. Go in to your 
confederates in that cave ; tell them so. The trap-door 
is secured above ; there is no escape for them ; bid them 
surrender ; if they attempt to rush out the grape-shot 
will pour upon them, and they are dead men." 

I cannot say that my rebel captain showed himself as 
stout as I could have wished, for the honour of my 
victory. The surprise disconcerted him totally ; I felt 
him tremble under my grasp. He obeyed my orders — 
went into the cave to bring his associates to submission. 
His parley with them, however, was not immediately 
successful ; I suppose there were some braver fellows 
than he amongst them, whose counsel might be for open 
war. In the meantime our yeomen landed, and sur- 
rounded the cave on all sides, so that there was no possi- 
bihty of escape for those within. At last they yielded 
themselves our prisoners. I am sorry I have no bloody 
battle for the entertainment of such of my readers as 
like horrors ; but so it was, that they yielded without a 
drop of blood being spilled, or a shot fired. We let them 
out of their hiding-place one by one, searching each as 



THE PLOT AGAINST GLENTHORN. 1 1? 

he issued forth, to be secure that they had no concealed 
weapons. After they had given up the arms which were 
concealed in the cave, the next question was, what to do 
with our prisoners. As it was now late, and they could 
not all be examined and committed with due legal form 
to the county gaol, Mr. M'Leod advised that we should 
detain them in the place they had chosen for themselves 
till morning. Accordingly, in the cave we again stowed 
them, and left a guard at each entrance to secure them for 
the night. We returned to the castle. I stopped at 
the gate to tell Ellinor and Christy that I was safe. They 
were sitting up watching for the news. The moment 
EUinor saw me, she clasped her hands in an ecstasy of 
joy, but could not speak. Christy was voluble in his 
congratulations ; but, in the midst of his rejoicing, 
he could not help reproaching me with forgetting to give 
him the blunderbush, and to let him have a bit of the 
fighting. " Upon my honour," said I, " there was none, 
or you should have been there." 

"Oh, don't be plaguing and gathering round him 
now," said Ellinor ; " sure he is tired, and look how hot- 
no wonder— let him get home and to bed ; I'll run and 
warm it with the pan myself, and not be trusting them." 

She would not be persuaded that I did not desire to 
have my bed warmed, but, by some short-cut, got in 
before us. On entering the castle-hall, I found her, 
with the warming-pan in her hand, held back by the 
inquisitive servants, who were all questioning her about 
the news, of which she was the first and not very intel- 
ligible enunciator. 

I called for bread and water for my prisoner in the 
strong-room, and then I heard various exclamations of 
wonder. 



Il8 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

** Ay, it is all true ! it is no jest ! Joe is at the bottom 
of all. / never liked Joe Kelly — I always knew Joe was 
not the right thing — and / always said so ; and I, and I, 
and I. And it was but last week I was saying so ; and 
it was but yesterday I said so and so." 

I passed through the gossiping crowd with bread and 
water for my culprit. iNFLeod instantly saw and followed 
me. 

** I will make bold to come with vou," said he ; ** a 
pent rat's a dangerous animal." I thanked him, and 
acquiesced ; but there was no need for the precaution. 
When we opened the door, we found the conscience or 
terror-struck v/retch upon his knees, and in the most 
abject terms he implored for mercy. From the windows 
of the room, which looked into the castle yard, he had 
heard enough to guess all that had happened. I could 
not bear to look at him. After I had set down his food, 
he clung to my knees, crying and whining in a most 
unmanly manner. M'Leod, with indignation, loosened 
him from me, threw him back, and locked the door. 

** Cowardice and treachery," said he, ** usually go 
together." 

** And courage and sincerity," said I. " And now 
we'll go to supper, my good friends. I hope you are all 
as hungry as I am." 

I never did eat any meal with so much appetite. 

'' Tis a pity, my lord," said MXeod, '' but that there 
was a conspiracy against you every day of your life, it 
seems to do you so much good." 



ELLINOR o'dONOGHOE's STORY. II9 



ELLINOR'S STORY. 

" What new wonders ? What new misfortunes, 
Ellinor ? " said I, as Ellinor, with a face of consternation, 
appeared again in the morning in my room, just as I was 
going down to breakfast. " What new misfortunes, 
Ellinor ? " 

** Oh ! the worst that could befall me ! " cried she, 
wringing her hands ; ** the worst, the very worst ! — 
to be the death of my own child ! " said she, with in- 
expressible horror. ** Oh ! save him ! save him ! for 
the love of heaven, dear, save him ! If you don't save 
him, 'tis I shall be his death." 

She was in such agony that she could not explain 
herself farther for some minutes. 

** It was I gave the information against them all to you. 
But how could I ever have thought Owen was one of 
them ? My son, my own son, the unfortunate cratur ; 
I never thought but what he was with the militia far away. 
And how could it ever come into my head that Owen 
could have any hand in a thing of the kind ?" 

** But I did not see him last night," interrupted I. 

" Oh ! he was there ! One of his own friends, one of 
the military that went with you, saw him among the 
prisoners, and came just now to tell me of it. That 
Owen should be guilty of the like ! — Oh ! what could 
have come over him ! He must have been out of his 
rason. And against you to be plotting ! That's what I 
never will believe, if even I'd hear it from himself. 
But he's among them that were taken last night. And 



120 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

will I live to see him go to gaol ? — and will I live to see — ■ 
No, rd rather die first, a thousand and a thousand times 
over. Oh ! for mercy's sake ! " said she, dropping on 
her knees at my feet, '' have pity on me, and don't let 
the blood of my own child be upon me in my old days.'' 

** What would you have me do, Ellinor ? " said I, much 
moved by her distress. 

*' There is but one thing to do," said she. *' Let him 
off ; sure a word from you would be enough for the 
soldiers that are over them on guard. And Mr. M*Leod 
has not yet seen him ; and if he was just let escape, there 
would be no more about it ; and I'd engage he shall fly 
the country, the unfortunate cratur ! and never trouble 
you more. This is all I ask ; and sure, dear, you can't 
refuse it to your own Ellinor — your old nurse, that 
carried ye in her arms, and fed ye with her milk, and 
watched over ye many's the long night, and loved ye ; 
ay, none ever loved or could love ye so well." 

** I am sensible of it ; I am grateful," interrupted I ; 
** but what you ask of me, ElHnor, is impossible — I 
cannot let him escape ; but I will do my utmost." 

** Troth, nothing will save him if you would not say 
the word for him now. Ah ! why cannot you let him off 
then ? " 

** I should lose my honour ; I should lose my character. 
You know that I have been accused of favouring the 
rebels already — you saw the consequences of my pro- 
tecting your other son, though he was innocent and 
injured, and bore an excellent character." 

" Christy ; ay, true ; but poor Owen, unlucky as he 
is, and misguided, has a better claim upon you." 

*' How can that be ? Is not the other my foster- 
brother^ in the first place ? " 



ELLINOR o'dONOGHOE's STORY. 121 

" True for him." 

" And had not I proofs of his generous conduct and 
attachment to me ? " 

** Owen is naturally fonder of you by a great deal/* 
interrupted she ; ** Til answer for that." 

** What ! when he has just been detected in conspiring 
against my life ? " 

** That's what Fll never beUeve," cried Ellinor, vehem- 
ently ; *' that he might be drawn in, maybe, when out of 
his rason — he was always a wild boy — to be a united-man, 
and to hope to get you for his captain, might be the case, 
and bad enough that ; but, jewel, you'll find he did never 
conspire against you ; Fd lay down my life upon that." 

She threw herself again at my feet, and clung to my 
knees. 

** As you hope for mercy yourself in this world, or the 
world to come, show some now, and do not be so hard- 
hearted as to be the death of both mother and son." 

Her supplicating looks and gestures, her words, her 
tears, moved me so much that I was on the point of 
yielding ; but recollecting what was due to justice and 
to my own character, with an effort of what I thought 
virtuous resolution, I repeated, '' It is impossible ; my 
good Ellinor, urge me no farther ; ask anything else, 
and it shall be granted, but this is impossible." 

As I spoke, I endeavoured to raise her from the ground ; 
but with the sudden force of angry despair, she resisted. 

** No, you shall not raise me," cried she. '' Here let 
me lie, and break my heart with your cruelty ! 'Tis 
a judgment upon me — it's a judgment, and it's fit L 
should feel it as I do. But you shall feel too, in spite 
of your hard heart. Yes, your heart is harder than the 
marble ; you want the natural touch, you do ; for your 



122 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

mother has knelt at your feet, and you have denied her 
prayer/' 

" My mother ! " 

" And what was her prayer ? — to save the Ufe of your 
brother." 

** My brother ! Good heavens ! what do I hear ? " 

*' You hear the truth ; you hear that I am your lawful 
mother. Yes, you are my son. You have forced that 
secret from me, which I thought to have carried with me 
to my grave. And now you know all ; and now you 
know how wicked I have been, and it was all for you ; 
for you that refused me the only thing ever I asked, and 
that, too, in my greatest distress, when my heart was just 
breaking ; and all this time, too, there's Christy — ^poor 
good Christy ; he that I've wronged, and robbed of his 
rightful inheritance, has been as a son, a dutiful good son 
to me, and never did he deny me anything I could ask ; 
but in you I have found no touch of tenderness. Then 
it's fit I should tell you again, and again, and again, 
that he who is now slaving at the forge, to give 
me the earnings of his labour ; he that lives, and 
has lived all his days, upon potatoes and salt, and 
is content ; he who has the face and the hands so 
disguised with the smoke and the black, that your- 
self asked him t'other day did he ever wash his face 
since he was born — I tell ye, he it is who should 
live in this castle, and sleep on that soft bed, and be 
lord of all here — he is the true and real Lord Glenthorn, 
and to the wide world I'll make it known. Ay, be pale 
and tremble, do ; it's your turn now ; I've touched you 
now ; but it's too late. In the face of day I shall confess 
the wrong I've done ; and I shall call upon you to give 
back to him all that by right is his own.'* 



ELLINOR O'DONOGHOE'S STORY. 1 23 

Ellinor stopped short, for one of my servants at this 
instant came into the room. 

'* My lord, Mr. M'Leod desires me to let you know the 
guard has brought up the prisoners, and he is going to 
commit them to gaol, and would be glad to know if you 
choose to see them first, my lord." 

Stupefied by all I had just heard, I could only reply 
that I would come presently. Ellinor rushed past the 
servant — *' Are they come ? " cried she. *^ Where will 
I get a sight of them ? '' I stayed for a few minutes 
alone, to decide upon what I ought to say and do. A 
multitude of ideas, more than had ever come in my mind 
in a twelvemonth, passed through it in these few minutes. 

As I was slowly descending the great staircase, Ellinor 
came running, as fast as she could run, to the foot of the 
stairs, exclaiming, *' It's a mistake ! it's all a mistake, and 
I was a fool to believe them that brought me the word. 
Sure Ody's not there at all ! nor ever was in it. I've 
seen them all, face to face ; and my son's not one of them, 
nor ever was ; and I was a fool from beginning to end — 
and I beg your pardon entirely," whispered she, coming 
close to my ear ; *' I was out of my reason at the thought 
of that boy's being to suflFer, and I, his mother, the cause 
of it. Forgive all I said in my passion, my own best 
jewel ; you was always good and tender to me, and be 
the same still, dear. I'll never say a word more about it 
to anyone living,; the secret shall die with me. Sure, 
when my conscience has borne it so long, it may strive 
and bear it a little longer for your sake ; and it can't be 
long I have to live, so that will make all easy. Hark ! 
they are asking for you. Do you go your ways into 
the great parlour, to Mr. M^Leod, and think no more 
of anything at all but joy. My son's not one of them ! 



124 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

I must go to the forge and tell Christy the good news." 

EUinor departed, quite satisfied with herself, with me, 
and with all the world. She took it for granted that she 
left me in the same state of mind, and that I should 
obey her injunctions, and think of nothing but joy. 
Of what happened in the great parlour, and of the ex- 
aminations of the prisoners, I have but a confused 
recollection. I remember that Mr. M^Leod seemed 
rather surprised by my indifference to what concerned 
me so nearly ; and that he was obliged to do all the 
business himself. The men were, I believe, all com- 
mitted to gaol, and Joe Kelly turned king's evidence ; 
but as to any further particulars, I know no more than it 
I had been in a dream. The discovery which EUinor 
had just made to me engrossed all my powers of attention. 

** Le vrai n'est pas toujours vraisemblable," says an 
acute observer of human affairs. The romance of real 
life certainly goes beyond all other romances ; and there 
are facts which few writers would dare to put into a book 
as there are skies which few painters would venture to 
put into a picture. 

When I had leisure to reflect, I considered that as yet 
I had no proof of the truth of EUinor's strange story, 
except her own assertions. I sent for her again, to 
examine her more particularly. I was aware that, if I 
alarmed her, I should so confuse her imagination that 
I should never obtain the truth ; therefore, I composed 
myself, and assumed my usual external appearance of 
nonc^halance. I received her lolling upon my sofa, 
as usual, and I questioned her merely as if to gratify an 
idle curiosity. 

'' Troth, dear," said she, '' Til tell you the whole story 
how it was, to make your mind asy, which, God knows, 



ELLINOR O'DONOGHOE'S STORY. 1 25 

mine never was, from that minute it first came into my 
head, till this very time being. You mind the time 
you got the cut in your head — no, not you, jewel ; but 
the little lord that w^as then, Christy there below that is. 
Well, the cut was a terrible cut as ever you seen, got 
by a fall on the fender from the nurse's arms, that was 
drunk, three days after he was born." 

" I remember to have heard my father talk of some 
accident of this sort which happened to me when I was 
an infant.'' 

** Ay, sure enough it did, and that was what first put 
him in the notion of taking the little lord out of the hands 
of the Dublin nurse-tenders, and them that were about 
my Lady Glen thorn, and did not know how to manage 
her, which was the cause of her death ; and he said he'd 
have his own way about his son and heir anyway, and 
have him nursed by a wholesome woman in a cabin, 
and brought up hardy, as he, and the old lord, and all the 
family, were before him. So with that he sends for me, 
and he puts the young lord, God bless him, into my arms 
himself, and a donny thing he was that same time to look 
at, for he was but just out of the surgeon's hands, the head 
just healed and scarred over like ; and my lord said 
there should be no more doctors never about him. So I 
took him, that is, Christy, and you, to a house at the sea, 
for the salt water, and showed him every justice ; and 
my lord often came to see him whilst he was in the 
country ; but then he was off, after a time, to Dublin, 
and I was in a lone place, where nobody came, and the 
child was very sick with me, and you was all the time 
as fine and thriving a child as ever you see ; and I thought 
to be sure, one night, that he would die wid me. He 
was very bad, very bad indeed ; and I was sitting up in 



126 MAPI A EDGEWORTH. 

bed, rocking him backwards and forwards this ways ; 
I thought with myself, what a pity it was the young lord 
should die, and he an only son and heir, and the estate 
to go out of the family the Lord knows where ; and 
then the grief the father would be in ; and then I thought 
how happy he would be if he had such a fine babby 
as you, dear • and you was a fine babby ^ to be sure ; 
and then I thought how happy it would be for you if 
you was in the place of the httle lord ; and then it came 
into my head, just like a shot, where would be the harm 
to change you ? for I thought the real lord would surely 
die ; and then, what a gain it would be to all, if it was 
never known, and if the dead child was carried to the 
grave, since it must go, as only poor EUinor O'Donoghoe's 
and no more about it. Well, if it was a wicked thought, 
it was the devil himself put it into my head, to be sure ; 
for, only for him, I should never have had the sense to 
think of such a thing, for I was always innocent like, 
and not worldly given. But so it was, the devil 
put it in my head, and made me do it, and showed me 
how, and all in a minute. So, I mind, your eyes and hair 
were both of the very same colour, dear ; and as to the 
rest, there's no telling how those young things alter in 
a few months, and my lord would not be down from 
Dublin in a hurry, so I settled it all right ; and as there 
was no likelihood at all the real lord would live, that 
quieted my conscience ; for I argued, it was better the 
father should have any sort of child at all than none. 
So when my lord came down, I carried him the child 
to see, that is you, jewel. He praised me greatly for 
all the care I had taken of his boy, and said how finely 
you was come on ! and I never see a father in greater joy ; 
and it would have been a sin, I thought, to tell him the 



ELLINOR O'DONOGHOE'S STORY. I27 

truth, after he took the change that was put upon him so 
well, and it made him so happy like. Well, I was afeard 
of my life he'd pull off the cap to search for the scar, 
so I would not let your head be touched anyway, dear, 
saying it was tinder and soft still with the fall, and you'd 
cry if the cap was stirred ; and so I made it out, indeed, 
very well , for, God forgive me, I twitched the string 
under your chin, dear, and made you cry like mad, when 
they would come to touch you. So there was no more 
about it, and I had you home to myself, and, all in good 
time, the hair grew, and fine, thick hair it was, God bless 
you ; and so there was no more about it, and I got into 
no trouble at all, for it all fell out just as I had laid it out, 
except that the real little young lord did not die as I 
thought ; and it was a wonder but he did, for you never 
saw none so near death, and backwards and forwards, 
what turns of sickness he took with me for months upon 
months, and year after year, so that none could think, 
no more than me, there was any likelihood at all of 
rearing him to man's estate. So that kept me easier 
in my 'mind concerning what I'd done ; for as I kept 
saying to myself, better the family should have an heir 
to the estate, suppose not the right, than none at all ; 
and if the father, nor nobody, never found it out, there 
was he and all the family made happy for life, and my 
child made a lord of, and none the wiser or the worse. 
Well, so I down-argued my conscience ; and anyway 
I took to little Christy, as he was now to be called — and 
I loved him, all as one as if he was my own — not that he 
was ever as well-looking as Ody, or any of the childer 
I had, but I never made any differ betwixt him and any of 
my own — he can't say as I did, anyhow, and he has no 
reason to complain of my being an unnat'ral mother to 



128 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

him, and being my foster-child I had a right to love him 
as I did, and I never wronged him in any way, except 
in the one article of changing him at nurse, which he 
being an infant, and never knowing, was never a bit 
the worse for, nor never will now. So all's right, dear, 
and make your mind asy, jewel ; there's the whole truth 
of the story for you." 

Having sati^ified himself of the truth of Blliuor's story by quiet 
enquiries, her son decided to hand over the property to Christy, 
the blacksmith, even though h .^.. certain thai ^Ihnor would no^ 
make the facts public. 



THE FOSTER-BROTHERS. 

I was, perhaps, the more ready to do rightly because 
I felt that I was not compelled to do it. The moment 
when I made this virtuous decision was the happiest 
I had at that time ever felt ; my mind seemed suddenly 
relieved from an oppressive weight ; my whole frame 
glowed with new life ; and the consciousness of coura- 
geous integrity elevated me so much in my own opinion 
that titles, and rank, and fortune, appeared as nothing 
in my estimation. I rang my bell eagerly, and ordered 
that Christy O'Donoghoe should be immediately sent for. 
The servant went instantly ; but it seemed to me an 
immoderately long time before Christy arrived. I 
walked up and down the room impatiently, and at last 
threw myself at full length upon the sofa ; the servant 
returned. 

" The smith is below in the hall, my lord." 



THE FOSTER-BROTHERS. 1 29 

" Show him up." — He was shown up into the ante- 
chamber. 

*' The smith is at the door, my lord.'' 

** Show him in, cannot you ? What detains him ? " 

" My brogues, my lord ! Fd be afraid to come in 
with 'em on the carpet." Saying this, Christy came in, 
stepping fearfully, astonished to find himself in a splendid 
drawing-room. 

** Were you never in this room before, Christy ? " 
said I. 

'' Never, my lord, plase your honour, barring the day 
I mended the bolt." 

" It is a fine room, is not it, Christy ? " 

" Troth, it is the finest ever I see, sure enough." 

** How should you like to have such a room of your 
own, Christy ? " 

** Is it I, plase your honour ? " repUed he, laughing ; 
" what should I do with the like ? " 

** How should you feel if you were master of this great 
castle ? " 

'* It's a poor figure I should make, to be sure," said he, 
turning his head over his shoulder towards the door, 
and resting upon the lock ; ** Fd rather be at the forge 
by a great dale.'' 

** Are you sure of that, Christy ? Should not you like 
to be able to live without working any more, and to have 
horses and servants of your own ? " 

** What would I do with them, plase your honour, I 
that have never been used to them ? Sure they'd all 
laugh at me, and Fd not be the better o' that, no more 
than of having nothing to do ; I that have been always 
used to the work, what should I do all the day without it ? 
But sure, my lord," continued he, changing his voice 

M 



130 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

to a more serious tone, " the horse that I shod yesterday 
for your honour did not go lame, did he ? " 

** The horse is very well shod, I believe ; I have not 
ridden him since ; I know nothing of the matter." 

'' Because I was thinking, maybe, it was that made 
your lordship send for me in the hurry — I was afeard 
that I'd find your honour mad with me ; and Fd be very 
sorry to disoblige you, my lord ; and Fm glad to see your 
honour looking so well after all the trouble you've been 
put to by them rubbles^ the villains, to be consarttng 
against you under-ground. But, thanks be to God, 
you have 'em all in gaol now. I thought my mother 
would have died of the fright she took when the report 
came that Ody was one of them. I told her there could 
not be no truth in it at all, but she would not mind me ; 
it would be a strange unnatural thing indeed, of any 
belonging to her to be plotting against your honour. 
I knew Ody could not be in it, and be a brother of mine ; 
and that's what I kept saying all the time, but she never 
heeded me ; for, your honour knows, when the women 
are frighted, and have taken a thing into their heads, 
you can't asy get it out again." 

" Very true ; but to return to what I was saying, 
should not you like to change places with me, if you 
could ? " 

" Your honour, my lord, is a very happy jantleman, 
and a very good jantleman, there's no doubt, and there's 
few but would be proud to be like you in anything 
at all." 

" Thank you for that compliment. But now, in plain 
English, as to yourself, would you like to be in my place — 
to change places with me ? " 

" In your honour's place — I ! I would wo/, my lord ; 



THE FOSTER-BROTHERS. 13! 

and that's the truth, now," said he, decidedly. *' I 
would not ; no offence — your honour bid me speak the 
truth ; for I've all I want in the world, a good mother, 
and a good wife, and good chtlder, and a reasonable 
good little cabin, and my little pratees, and the grazing 
of the cow, and work enough always, and not called on 
to slave, and I get my health, thank God for all ; and what 
more could I have if I should be made a lord to-morrow ? 
Sure, my good woman would never make a lady ; and 
what should I do with her ? I'd be grieved to see her 
the laughing-stock of high and low, besides being the 
same myself, and my boy after me. That would never 
answer for me ; so I'm not like them that would overturn 
all to get uppermost ; I never had any hand, art, or part 
in a thing of the kind ; I always thought and knew I 
was best as I am ; not but what, if I was to change 
with any, it is with you, my lord, I would be proud to 
change ; because if I was to be a jantleman at all, I'd 
wish to be of a ra-al good ould family bom." 

" You are then what you wish to be ? " said I. 

** Och ! " said he, laughing and scratching his head, 
" your honour's jesting me about them kings of Ireland, 
that they say the O'Donoghoes was once ; but that's 
what I never think ow, that's all idle talk for the like of 
me, for sure that's a long time ago, and what use going 
back to it ? One might as well be going back to Adam, 
that was the father of all, but which makes no differ 
now." 

** But you do not understand me," interrupted I ; 
*' I am not going back to the kings of Ireland ; I mean 
to tell you that you were born a gentleman — nay, I am 
perfectly serious ; listen to me." 

** I do, plase your honour, though it is mocking me 



132 MARIA EDGEVVORTH. 

I know you are ; I would be sorry not to take a joke as 
well as another." 

*' This is no joke. I repeat that I am serious. You 
are not only a gentleman, but a nobleman : to you this 
castle and this great estate belongs, and to you they shall 
be surrendered.'' 

He stood astonished ; and, his eyes opening wide, 
showed a great circle of white in his black face. 

*' Eh ! '* cried he, drawing that long breath which 
astonishment had suppressed. '' But how can this be ? " 

" Your mother can explain better than I can ; your 
mother, did I say ? — she is not your mother ; Lady 
Glenthorn was your mother." 

'* I can't understand it at all — I can't understand it at 
all. I'll lave it all to your honour," said he, making a 
motion with his hands, as if to throw from him the trouble 
of comprehending it. 

** Did you never hear of such a thing as a child's being 
changed at nurse ? " 

** I did, plase your honour ; but my mother would 
never do the like, I'll answer for her^ anyway ; and them 
that said anything of the kind belied her ; and don't 
be believing them, my lord." 

** But Ellinor was the person who told me this secret." 

** Was she so ? Oh, she must have been draaming ; 
she was always too good a mother to me to have sarved 
me so. But," added he, struggling to clear his intellects, 
** you say it's not my mother she is ; whose mother is 
she then ? Can it be that she is yours ? 'Tis not possible 
to think such a great lord was the son of such as her, 
to look at you both ; and was you the son of my father 
Johnny O'Donoghoe ? How is that again ? " 

He rubbed his forehead ; and I could scarcely forbear 



THE FOSTER-BROTHERS. 133 

laughing at his odd perplexity, though the subject was 
of such serious importance. When he clearly understood 
the case, and thoroughly believed the truth, he did not 
seem elated by this sudden change of fortune ; he really 
thought more of me than of himself. 

** Well, ril tell you what you will do then," continued 
he, after a pause of deep reflection ; " say nothing 
to nobody, but just keep asy on, even as we are. Don't 
let there be any surrendering at all, and Fll speak to my 
mother, that is, EUinor O'Donoghoe, and settle it so ; 
and let it be so settled, in the name of God, and no more 
about it ; and none need never be the wiser ; 'tis so best 
for all. A good day to your honour, and Fll go shoe 
the mare." 

' " Stay," said I ; " you may hereafter repent of this 
sudden determination. I insist upon your taking four- 
and-twenty hours — no, that would be too little — take 
a month to consider of it coolly, and then let me know 
your final determination." 

" Oh ! plase your honour, I will say the same then as 
now. It would be a poor thing indeed of me, after all 
you done for me and mine, to be putting you to more 
trouble. It would be a poor thing of me to forget how 
you liked to have lost your life all along with me at the 
time of the 'ruction. No, I'll not take the fortin from you, 
anyhow." 

" Put gratitude to me out of the question," said I. 
" Far be it from me to take advantage of your affectionate 
temper. I do not consider you as under any obligations 
to me ; nor will I be paid for doing justice." 

" Sure enough, your honour desarved to be born a 
gentleman," said Christy. 

" At least I have been bred a gentleman," said I. 



134 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" Let me see you again this day month, and not till then." 

" You shall not — that is, you shall, plase your honour ; 
but for fear anyone would suspect anything, Td best 
go shoe the mare, anyway. '* 

The day appointed for Christy's final determination 
arrived. I knew by the first motion of his shoulder 
as he came into the room what his decision would be. 

" Well, Christy,'' said I, " you will be Earl of Glen- 
thorn, I perceive. You are glad now that I did not 
take you at your word, and that I gave you a month's 
time for consideration." 

" Your honour was always considerate ; but if I'd 
wish now to be changing my mind," said he, hesitating, 
and shifting from leg to leg, ** it is not upon my own 
account, anyway, but upon my son Johnny's." 

" My good friend," said I, " no apology is necessary. 
I should be very unjust if I were offended by your 
decision, and very mean if, after the declarations I have 
made, I could, for an instant, hesitate to restore to you 
that property which it is your right and your choice to 
reclaim." 

Christy made a low bow, and seemed much at a loss 
what he was to say next. 

** I hope," continued I, " that you will be as happy 
when you are Earl of Glenthorn as you have been as 
Christy O'Donoghoe." 

" Maybe not, plase your honour ; but I trust my 
childer will be happy after me ; and it's them and my 
wife I'm thinking of, as in duty bound. But it is hard 
your honour should be astray for want of the fortin 
you've been bred to ; and this weighs with me greatly 
on the other side. If your honour could live on here, 
and share with us — But I see your honour's displeased 



THE FOSTER-BROTHERS. 1 35 

at my naming that. It was my wife thought o' that ; 
I knew it could not do. But then, what I think is, that 
your honour should name what you would be pleased 
to keep to live upon ; for, to be sure, you have a right 
to live as a gentleman, that have always lived as one, 
as everybody knows, and none better than I. Would 
your honour be so kind, then, as just to put down on a 
bit of paper what you'd wish to keep ; and that same, 
whatever it is, none shall touch but yourself ; and I 
would not own a child for mine that would begrudge 
it you. ril step down and wait below while your honour 
writes what you plase." 

The generosity of this man touched me to the heart. 
I accepted from him three hundred a year ; and 
requested that the annuity I allowed to the unfortunate 
Lady Glenthorn might be continued ; that the house 
which I had built for Ellinor, and the land belonging to it, 
might be secured to her rent-free for life ; and that all 
my debts should be paid. I recommended Mr. M'Leod 
in the strongest manner, as an agent whose abilities 
and integrity would be to him an invaluable treasure. 

These events were followed by the death of ]^llinor. At her 
funeral the ex-L,ord Glenthorn announced to the tenants the change 
in his fortunes, and then took the necessary legal steps for surren- 
dering the property. As Mr. O'Donoghoe he started life afresh, 
read for the Bar, and began to practise in Dublin, urged to these 
efforts by falling in love with Miss Cecilia Delamere. Though he 
had not previously made her acquaintance, she was the next heir 
to the Glenthorn property. His divorced wife had died, and after 
a long wooing he married Miss Delamere. Meanwhile at Glenthorn 
Castle everything had gone to rack and ruin, the new owner being 
quite unable to cope with the extravagance of his wife and only 
son, who kept open house for all the country-side. 



136 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



THE BLACKSMITH EARL. 

The preceding memoirs were just ready for publication, 
when 1 received the following letter : 

" Honoured Foster-brother, 

** Since the day I parted yees, nothing in life but 
misfortins has happened me, owing to my being over- 
ruled by my wife, who would be a lady, all I could say 
again it. But that's over, and there's no help ; for all 
and all that ever she can say will do no good. The 
castle's burnt down all to the ground, and my Johnny's 
dead, and I wish I was dead in his place. The occasion 
of his death was owing to drink, which he fell into from 
getting too much money, and nothing to do — and a snuff 
of a candle. When going to bed last night, a little in 
Hquor, what does he do but takes the candle, and sticks 
it up against the head of his bed, as he used oftentimes to 
do, without detriment, in the cabin where he was reared, 
against the mud-wall. But this was close to an ould 
window curtain, and a deal of ould wood in the bed, 
which was all in a smother, and he lying asleep after 
drinking, when he was ever hard to wake, and before 
he waked at all, it appears the unfortunate cratur was 
smothered, and none heard a sentence of it, till the ceiUng 
of my room, the blue bedchamber, with a piece of the big 
wood cornice, fell, and wakened me with terrible uproar, 
and all above and about me was flame and smoke, and I 
just took my wife on my back, and down the stairs with 
her, which did not give in till five minutes after, and she 
screeching, and all them relations she had screeching and 



THE BLACKSMITH EARL. 1 37 

running everyone for themselves, and no thought in any 
to save anything at all, but just what they could for them- 
selves, and not a sarvent that was in his right rason. 
I got the ladder with a deal of difficulty, and up to 
Johnny's room, and there was a sight for me — he a corpse, 
and how even to get the corpse out of that, myself could 
not tell, for I was bewildered, and how they took me down, 
I don't well know. When I came to my sinses, I was 
lying on the ground in the court, and all confusion and 
screaming still, and the flames raging worse than ever. 
There's no use in describing all — the short of it is, 
there's nothing remaining of the castle but the stones ; 
and it's Httle I'd think o' that, if I could have Johnny 
back — such as he used to be in my good days ; since 
he's gone, I am no good. I write this to beg you, being 
married, of which I give you joy, to Miss Delamere, 
that is the hare at law, will take possession of all imme- 
diately, for I am as good as dead, and will give no hind- 
rance. I will go back to my forge, and, by the help of 
God, forget at my work what has passed ; and as to my 
wife, she may go to her own kith and kin if she will 
not abide by me. I shall not trouble her long. Mr. 
M*Leod is a good man, and will follow any directions 
you send ; and may the blessing of God attind and come 
to reign over us again, when you will find me, as hereto- 
fore, 

" Your loyal foster-brotheo:, 

" Christy Donoghoe." 



138 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



SELECTIONS FROM THE ABSENTEE, 



THE CLONBRONIES IN LONDON. 

" Are you to be at Lady Clonbrony's gala next week ? " 
said Lady Langdale to Mrs. Dareville whilst they were 
waiting for their carriages in the crush-room of the Opera- 
house. 

'' Oh yes ! Everybody is to be there, I hear," replied 
Mrs. Dareville. ** Your ladyship, of course ? " 

** Why, I don't know. Lady Clonbrony makes it 
such a point with me, that if I possibly can manage it, 
I believe I must look in upon her for a few minutes. 
They are going to a prodigious expense on this occasion. 
Soho tells me the reception-rooms are all to be newly 
furnished, and in the most magnificent style." 

** At what a famous rate those Clonbronies are dashing 
on ! " said Colonel Heathcock. '' Up to anything." 

" Who are they, these Clonbronies, of whom one hears 
so much of late ? " said her Grace of Torcaster. '* Irish 
absentees, I know ; but how do they support all this 
enormous expense ? " 

** The son will have a prodigiously fine estate when 
some Mr. Quin dies," said Mrs. Dareville. 

** Yes, everybody who comes from Ireland will have 
a fine estate when somebody dies," said her Grace ; 
** but what have they at present ? " 



THE CLONBRONIES IN LONDON. 1 39 

" Twenty thousand a year, it is said," replied Mrs. 
Dareville. 

'* Ten thousand, I beUeve," cried Lady Langdale. 
** Make it a rule to believe only half the world says." 

** Ten thousand, have they ? — it is possible," said her 
Grace. '' I know nothing about them, having no ac- 
quaintance among the Irish. Torcaster knows something 
of Lady Clonbrony ; she has fastened herself, by some 
means, upon him ; but I charge him not to commit me. 
Positively I could not for anybody, and much less for 
that sort of person, extend the circle of my acquaintance." 

*' Now, that is so cruel of your Grace," said Mrs. 
Dareville, laughing, " when poor Lady Clonbrony works 
so hard and pays so high to get into certain circles." 

** If you knew all she endures to look, speak, move, 
breathe like an Englishwoman, you would pity her," 
said Lady Langdale." 

" Yes, and you cawjit conceive the peens she teeks to 
talk of the teebles and cheers^ and to thank Q., and with so 
much teeste, to speak pure EngHsh," said Mrs. Dareville. 

*' Pure cockney, you mean," said Lady Langdale. 

** But does Lady Clonbrony expect to pass for Eng- 
lish ? " said the Duchess. 

** Oh yes, because she is not quite English bred and 
born — only bred, not born," said Mrs. Dareville ; '' and 
she could not be five minutes in your Grace's company 
without telling you that she was Henglish, born in Hox- 
Jordshtre.'' 

** She must be a vastly amusing personage. I should 
like to meet her, if one could see and hear her incog, y'' 
said the Duchess. *' And Lord Clonbrony, what is he ? " 

" Nothing — nobody," said Mrs. Dareville ; " one 
never even hears of him." 



140 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

** A tribe of daughters too, I suppose ? " 

" No, no,'' said Lady Langdale ; '' daughters would 
be past all endurance." 

'' There's a cousin, though, a Miss Nugent," said 
Mrs. Dareville, *' that Lady Clonbrony has with her." 

*' Best part of her too," said Colonel Heathcock ; 
** very fine girl ! never saw her look better than at the 
opera to-night." 

** Fine complexion ! as Lady Clonbrony says when she 
means a high colour," said Lady Langdale. 

** Miss Nugent is not a lady's beauty," said Mrs. 
Dareville. ** Has she any fortune, colonel ? " 

** 'Pon honour, don't know," said the colonel. 

** There's a son somewhere, is there not ? " said 
Lady Langdale. 

** Don't know, 'pon honour," replied the colonel. 

** Yes, at Cambridge ; he is not of age yet," said Mrs. 
Dareville. ** Bless me ! here is Lady Clonbrony come 
back ; I thought she had left half-an-hour ago." 

'* Mamma," whispered one of Lady Langdale's 
daughters, who was leaning between her mother and Mrs. 
Dareville, " who is that gentleman that passed us just 
now ? " 

" Which way ? " 

** Towards the door. There, mamma, you can see 
him now. He is speaking to Lady Clonbrony — to Miss 
Nugent. Now Lady Clonbrony is introducing him to 
Miss Broadhurst." 

" I see him now," said Lady Langdale, examining him 
through her glass ; ** a very gentleman-like looking 
young man indeed." 

'' Not an Irishman, I am sure, by his manner," said 
her Grace. 



THE CLONBRONIES IN LONDON. I4I 

** Heathcock ! " said Lady Langdale, ** who is Miss 
Broadhurst talking to ? " 

" Eh ! Now really, 'pon honour, don't know," replied 
Heathcock. 

** And yet he certainly looks like somebody one should 
know," pursued Lady Langdale, ** though I don't 
recollect seeing him anywhere before." 

" Really now ! " was all the satisfaction she could 
gain from the insensible, immovable colonel. However, 
her ladyship, after sending a whisper along the line, 
gained the desired information that the young gentleman 
was Lord Colambre, son, and only son, of Lord and Lady 
Clonbrony ; that he was just come from Cambridge ; 
that he was not yet of age ; that he would be of age within 
a year ; that he would then, after the death of somebody, 
come into possession of a fine estate by the mother's 
side. ** And, therefore, Cat-rine, my dear," said she, 
turning round to the daughter who had first pointed him 
out, " you understand, we should never talk about other 
people's affairs." 

" No, mamma, never. I hope to goodness, mamma. 
Lord Colambre did not hear what you and Mrs. Dareville 
were saying." 

" How could he, child ? He was quite at the other end 
of the world ? " 

** I beg your pardon ; he was at my elbow, close 
behind us ; but I never thought about him till I heard 
somebody say, * My lord.' " 

" Good heavens ! I hope he didn't hear." 

" But for my part I said nothing," cried Lady Langdale. 

" And for my part I said nothing but what everybody 
knows ! " cried Mrs. Dareville. 

" And for my part I am guilty only of hearing," said 



142 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

the Duchess. '* Do, pray, Colonel Heathcock, have the 
goodness to see what my people are about, and what 
chance we have of getting away to-night." 

*' The Duchess of Torcaster's carriage stops the way ! " 
This was a joyful sound to Colonel Heathcock and to her 
Grace, and not less agreeable at this instant to Lady 
Langdale, who, directly she was disembarrassed of the 
Duchess, pressed through the crowd to Lady Clonbrony, 
and addressed her with smiles and complacency, saying 
she was " charmed to have a little moment to speak to 
her ; could not sooner get through the crowd ; would 
certainly do herself the honour to be at her ladyship's 
gala. 

** Lady Langdale's carriage stops the way ! " Lord 
Colambre made no offer of his services, notwithstanding 
a look from his mother. Incapable of the meanness of 
voluntarily listening to a conversation not intended for 
him to hear, he had, however, been compelled by the 
pressure of the crowd to remain a few minutes stationary, 
where he could not avoid hearing the remarks of the 
fashionable friends. Disdaining dissimulation, he made 
no attempt to conceal his displeasure. Perhaps his 
vexation was increased by his consciousness that there 
was some truth in their sarcasms. He was sensible that 
his mother in some points — her manners for instance — 
was obvious to ridicule and satire. In Lady Clonbrony's 
address there was a mixture of constraint, affection, and 
indecision, unusual in a person of her birth, rank, and 
knowledge of the world. A natural and unnatural 
manner seemed struggling in all her gestures and in every 
syllable that she articulated. A naturally free, familiar, 
good-natured, precipitate Irish manner had been schooled, 
and schooled late in life, into a sober, cold, still, stiff 



THE CLONBRONIES IN LONDON. I43 

deportment, which she mistook for EngHsh. A strong 
Hibernian accent she had, with infinite difficulty, changed 
into an EngHsh tone. Mistaking reverse of wrong for 
right, she caricatured the EngUsh pronunciation ; and 
the extraordinary precision of her London phraseology 
betrayed her not to be a Londoner, as the man who strove 
to pass for an Athenian was detected by his Attic dialect. 
Not aware of her real danger. Lady Clonbrony was, 
on the opposite side, in continual apprehension, every 
time she opened her lips, lest some treacherous a or e^ 
some strong r, some puzzling aspirate or non-aspirate, 
some unguarded note, interrogative or e^^postulatory, 
should betray her to be an Irishwoman. Mrs. Dareville 
had in her mimicry perhaps a little exaggerated as to the 
teebles and cheers, but still the general likeness of the 
representation of Lady Clonbrony was strong enough 
to strike and vex her son. He had now, for the first time, 
an opportunity of judging of the estimation in which 
his mother and his family were held by certain leaders 
of the ton, of whom in her letters she had spoken so much, 
and into whose society, or rather into whose parties, 
she had been admitted. He saw that the renegado 
cowardice with which she denied, abjured, and reviled 
her own country gained nothing but ridicule and con- 
tempt. He loved his mother, and whilst he endeavoured 
to conceal her faults and foibles as much as possible 
from his own heart, he could not endure those who 
dragged them to light and ridicule. The next morning 
the first thing that occurred to Lord Colambre's remem- 
brance, when he awoke, was the sound of the contemp- 
tuous emphasis which had been laid on the words Irish 
absentees ! This led to recollections of his native country, 
to comparisons of past and present scenes, to future plans 



144 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

of life. Young and careless as he seemed, Lord Colambre 
was capable of serious reflection. Of naturally quick 
and strong capacity, ardent affections, impetuous temper, 
the early years of his childhood were spent at his father's 
castle in Ireland, where everybody, from the lowest 
servant to the well-dressed dependant of the family, 
had conspired to wait upon, to fondle, to flatter, to 
worship this darling of their lord. Yet he was not 
spoiled nor rendered selfish, for in the midst of this 
flattery and servility some strokes of genuine and generous 
aff'ection had gone home to his little heart ; and though 
unqualified submission had increased the natural im- 
petuosity of his temper, and though visions of his future 
grandeur had touched his infant thought, yet, fortunately 
before he acquired any fixed habits of insolence or tyranny, 
he was carried far away from all that were bound or 
willing to submit to his commands — far away from all 
signs of hereditary grandeur, plunged into one of our 
great public schools, into a new world. Forced to. 
struggle, mind and body, with his equals, his rivals, 
the little lord became a spirited schoolboy, and in time 
a man. Fortunately for him, science and literature 
happened to be the fashion among a set of clever young 
men with whom he associated at Cambridge. His 
ambition for intellectual superiority developed itself, his 
views were enlarged, his tastes and his manners formed. 
The sobriety of English good sense mixed most advan- 
tageously with Irish vivacity ; English prudence governed 
but did not extinguish his Irish enthusiasm. But, 
in fact, English and Irish had not been invidiously 
contrasted in his mind ; he had been so long resident 
in England, and so intimately connected with English- 
men, that he was not obvious to any of the commonplace 



LORD CLONBRONY AND SIR TERENCE o'fAY. 1 45 

ridicule thrown upon Hibernians ; and he had lived with 
men who were too well-informed and liberal to mis- 
judge or depreciate a sister country. He had found from 
experience that, however the English may be in manner, 
they are warm at heart ; that however averse they may 
be to forming new acquaintances, their esteem and 
confidence once gained, they make the most solid friends. 
He had formed friendships in England ; he was fully 
sensible of the superior comforts, refinement, and in- 
formation of English society ; but his own country was 
endeared to him by early association, and a sense of duty 
and patriotism attached him to Ireland. '*And shall I, 
too, be an absentee ? " was a question which resulted 
from these reflections ; a question which he was not yet 
prepared to answer decidedly. 



LORD CLONBRONY AND SIR TERENCE O'FAY. 

Whilst Lady Clonbrony, in consequence of her resi- 
dence in London, had become more of a fine lady. Lord 
Clonbrony since he left Ireland had become less of a 
gentleman. Lady Clonbrony, born an Englishwoman, 
disclaiming and disencumbering herself of all the Irish 
in town, had, by giving splendid entertainments at an 
enormous expense, made her way into a certain set of 
fashionable company. But Lord Clonbrony, who was 
somebody in Ireland, a great person in Dublin, found 
himself nobody in England, a mere cipher in London. 
Looked down upon by the fine people with whom his 
lady associated, and heartily weary of them, he retreated 
from them altogether, and sought entertainment and self- 

N 



146 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

complacency in society, beneath him indeed, both in 
rank and education, but in which he had the satisfaction 
of feeHng himself the first person in company. Of these 
associates, the first in talents and in jovial profligacy 
was Sir Terence OTay, a man of low extraction, who had 
been knighted by an Irish lord lieutenant in some con- 
vivial frolic. No one could tell a good story or sing a 
good song better than Sir Terence ; he exaggerated his 
native brogue and his natural propensity to blunder, 
caring little whether the company laughed at him or with 
him, provided they laughed. '' Live and laugh ; laugh 
and live," was his motto ; and certainly he lived on 
laughing as well as many better men can contrive to live 
on a thousand a year. 



GRACE NUGENT. 

Lady Clonbrony was taken ill the day after her gala. 
She had caught cold by standing, when much overheated, 
in a violent draught of wind, paying her parting compli- 
ments to the Duke of V , who thought her a bore, 

and wished her in heaven all the time for keeping his 
horses standing. Her ladyship's illness was severe and 
long ; she was confined to her room for some weeks 
by a rheumatic fever and an inflammation in her eyes. 
Every day, when Lord Colambre went to see his mother, 
he found Miss Nugent in her apartment and every hour 
he found fresh reason to admire this charming girl. 

Much must be allowed for an inflammation in the eyes 
and something for a rheumatic fever ; yet it may seem 
strange that Lady Clonbrony should be so blind and deaf 



GRACE NUGENT. 147 

as neither to see nor hear all this time ; that, having 
lived so long in the world, it should never have occurred 
to her that it was rather imprudent to have a young lady — 
and such a young lady, not eighteen — nursing her, when 
her son — and such a son, not one-and-twenty — came to 
visit her daily. But so it was ; Lady Clonbrony knew 
nothing of love. She had read of it, indeed, in novels, 
which sometimes, for fashion's sake, she had looked at, 
and over which she had been obliged to doze ; but this 
was only love in books. With love in real life she had 
never met ; in the life she led how should she ? She had 
heard that it made young and even old people do foolish 
things ; but those were foolish people ; and if they were 
worse than foolish, why it was shocking, and nobody 
visited them. But Lady Clonbrony had not, for her own 
part, the slightest notion how people could be brought 
to this pass, nor how anybody out of Bedlam could prefer, 
to a good house, a decent equipage, and a proper establish- 
ment, what is called love in a cottage. As to Colambre, 
she had too good an opinion of his understanding — to 
say nothing of his duty to his family, his pride, his rank, 
and his being her son — to let such an idea cross her 
imagination. As to her niece ; in the first place, she 
was her niece, and first cousins should never marry 
because they forna no new connections to strengthen the 
family interest or raise its consequence. This doctrine 
her ladyship had repeated for years, so often and so 
dogmatically, that she conceived it to be incontrovertible, 
and of as full force as any law of the land, or as any moral 
or religious obligation. She would as soon have sus- 
pected her niece of an intention of stealing her diamond 
necklace as of purloining Colambre 's heart or marrying 
this heir of the house of Clonbrony. 



148 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Miss Nugent was so well apprised and so thoroughly 
convinced of all this, that she never for one moment 
allowed herself to think of Lord Colambre as a lover. 
Duty, honour, and gratitude — gratitude, the strong 
feeling and principle of her mind — ^forbade it. She had 
so prepared herself to consider him as a person with whom 
she could not possibly be united, that, with perfect ease 
and simplicity, she behaved towards him exactly as if 
he was her brother. 



SIR TERENCE'S WAY WITH DUNS. 

" Never fear," said Sir Terence. ** Haven't I been 
at my wits' ends for myself or my friends ever since 
1 came to man's estate ; to years of discretion I should 
say, for the deuce i foot of estate have I. But use has 
sharpened my wits pretty well for your service ; so never 
be in dread, my good lord ; for, look ye ! " cried the 
reckless knight, sticking his arms akimbo — ** look ye here ! 
in Sir Terence O'Fay stands a host that desires no better 
than to encounter, single witted, all the duns in the 
United Kingdoms, Mordicai, the Jew, inclusive." 

** Ah ! that's the devil, that Mordicai," said Lord 
Clonbrony ; '' that's the only man on earth I dread." 

" Why, he's only a coachmaker, is he not ? " said 
Lady Clonbrony. " I can't think how you can talk, 
my lord, of dreading such a low man. Tell him, if he's 
troublesome, we won't bespeak any more carriages ; 
and, I'm sure, I wish you would not be so silly, my lord, 
to employ him any more, when you know he disappointed 
me the last birthday about the landau, which I have not 
got yet." 



SIR Terence's way with duns. 149 

" Nonsense, my dear," said Lord Clonbrony, ** you 
don't know what you are talking of — Terry, I say, even 
a friendly execution is an ugly thing." 

*' Phoo ! phoo ! an ugly thing ! So is a fit of the gout ; 
but one's all the better for it after. 'Tis just a renewal 
of life, my lord, for which one must pay a bit of a fine, 
you know. Take patience, and leave me to manage all 
properly. You know I'm used to these things. Only 
you recollect, if you please, how I managed my friend 

Lord ; it's bad to be mentioning names, but Lord 

everybody-knows-who. Didn't I bring him through 
cleverly, when there was that rascally attempt to seize 
the family plate ? I had notice, and what did I do, but 
broke open a partition between that lord's house and my 
lodgings, which I had taken next door ; and so, when the 
sheriff's officers were searching below on the ground- 
floor, I just shoved the plate easy through to my bed- 
chamber at a moment's warning, and then bid the gentle- 
men walk in, for they couldn't set a foot in my Paradise, 
the devils I So they stood looking at it through the wall, 
and cursing me, and I holding both my sides with laughter 
at their fallen faces." 

Sir Terence and Lord Clonbrony laughed in concert. 

** This is a good story," said Miss Nugent, smiling ; 
*' but, surely, Sir Terence, such things are never done 
in real life ? 

" Done 1 ay, are they, and I could tell you a hundred 
better strokes, my dear Miss Nugent." 
" Grace ! " cried Lady Clonbrony, ** do pray have the 
goodness to seal and send these notes ; for really," 
whispered she, as her niece came to the table, '' I cawnt 
stee, I cawnt bear that horrid man's vice, his accent grows 
horrider and horrider ! " 



150 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Her ladyship rose and left the room. 

** Why, then," continued Sir Terence, following Miss 
Nugent to the table, where she was sealing letters ; *' I 
must tell you how I sarved that same man, on another 
occasion, and got the victory too." 

No general officer could talk of his victories, or fight 
his battles over again, with more complacency than Sir 
Terence 0*Fay recounted his civil exploits. 

" Now, rU tell Miss Nugent. There was a footman 
in the family, not an Irishman, but one of your powdered 
English scoundrels that ladies are so fond of having 
hanging to the backs of their carriages ; one Fleming he 
was, that turned spy, and traitor, and informer, went 
privately and gave notice to the creditors where the plate 
was hid in the thickness of the chimney — but if he did, 
what happened ? Why, I had my counter-spy, an 
honest little Irish boy, in the creditor's shop, that I had 
secured with a little douceur of usquebaugh ; and he 
outwitted, as was natural, the English lying valet, and 
gave us notice just in the nick, and I got ready for their 
reception. Miss Nugent, I only wish you'd seen the 
excellent sport we had, letting them follow the scent 
they got ; and when they were sure of their game, what 
did they find ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! — dragged out, after a 

world of labour, a heavy box of a load of brickbats ; 

not an item of my friend's plate, that was all snug in the 
coalhole, where them dunces never thought of looking for 
it. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 

** But come, Terry," cried Lord Clonbrony, *' I'll 
pull down your pride. How finely, another time, your 
job of the false ceiling answered in the hall. I've heard 
that story, and have been told how the sheriff's fellow 
thrust his bayonet up through your false plaster, and 



SIR Terence's way with duns. 151 

down came tumbling the family plate. Hey, Terry ? 
That cost your friend, Lord ever ybody-knows- who, 
more than your head's worth, Terry." 

" I ask your pardon, my lord, it never cost him a 
farthing." 

*' When he paid ;C7>ooo for the plate, to redeem it ? " 

" Well ! and did not I make up for that at the races of 

? The creditors learned that my lord's horse, 

Naboclish, was to run at races ; and as the sheriff's 

officer knew he dare not touch him on the race-ground, 
what does he do, but he comes down, early in the morning, 
on the mail-coach, and walks straight down to the livery 
stables. He had an exact description of the stables, 
and the stall, and the horse's body-clothes. 

" I was there, seeing the horse taken care of ; and, 
knowing the cut of the fellow's jib, what does I do, but 
whips the body-clothes off Naboclish, and claps them 
upon a garrone, that the priest would not ride 

** In comes the bailiff ; * Good morrow to you, sir,' 
says I, leading out of the stable my lord's horse with an 
ould saddle and bridle on. 

" * Tim Neal,' says I to the groom, who was rubbing 
down the garrone's heels, * mind your hits to-day, and 
we'll wet the plate to-night.' 

" * Not so fast, neither,' says the bailiff ; * here's my 
writ for seizing the horse.' 

Och,' says I, * you wouldn't be so cruel.' 
That's all my eye,' says he, seizing the garrone, while 
I mounted Naboclish, and rode him off deliberately.'" 

** Ha ! ha ! ha ! That was neat, I grant you, Terry," 
said Lord Clonbrony ; '' but what a dolt of a born 
ignoramus must that sheriff's fellow have been not to 
know Naboclish when he saw him 1 " 



152 MART A EDGEWORTH. 

" But Stay, my lord ; stay, Miss Nugent. I have 
more for you," following her wherever she moved ; 
" I did not let him off so, I bid and bid against them 
for the pretended NabocHsh, till I left him on their hands 
for 500 guineas. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Was not that famous ?'* 

'' But,'' said Miss Nugent, '* I cannot believe you are 
in earnest. Sir Terence. Surely this would be " 

'' What ? Out with it, my dear Miss Nugent." 

" I am afraid of offending you -" 

** You can't, my dear, I defy you — say the word that 
came to the tongue's end, it is always the best.' 

*' I was going to say swindling," said the young lady, 
colouring deeply. 

** Oh ! you were going to say wrong then ! It's not 
called swindling amongst gentlemen, who know the 
world ; it's only jockeying — fine sport — and very 
honourable, to help a friend, at a dead lift. Anything 
to get a friend out of a present difficulty " 

** And when the present difficulty is over, do your 
friends never think of the future ? " 

'' The future ! leave the future to posterity," said 
Sir Terence ; ** I'm counsel only for the present, and 
when the evil comes it is time enough to think of it ; 
I can't bring the guns of my wits to bear till the enemy's 
alongside of me, or within sight of me, at the least. 
And besides, there never was a good commander yet, 
by sea or land, that would tell his little expedients before- 
hand, or before the very day of battle." 

Colambre was pressed by his family to propose to a very rich 
E^nglish girl, Miss Broadhurst, who had no wish to become Lady 
Colambre, though her mother was anxious to marry her to a future 
peer. This affair, and the unpleasantness caused by the family's 
financial troubles, increased his determination to leave I<ondon 
for a time. 



<c 



IRELAND ! OF ALL PLACES." 153 



IRELAND! OF ALL PLACES." 



" Ireland ! of all places," cried Lady Clonbrony. 
" What upon earth puts it into your head to go to Ireland ? 
You do very well to go out of the way of falling in love 
ridiculously, since that is the reason of your going ; 
but what put Ireland into your head, child ? " 

** I will not presume to ask my mother what put Ireland 
out of her head," said Lord Colambre, smiling ; ** but 
she will recollect that it is my native country." 

** That was your father's fault, not mine," said Lady 
Clonbrony, " for I wished to have been confined in 
England ; but he would have it to say that his son and 
heir was born at Clonbrony Castle ; and there was a 
great argument between him and my uncle, and some- 
thing about the Prince of Wales and Carnarvon Castle 
was thrown in, and that turned the scale much against 
my will ; for it was my wish that my son should be an 
Englishman born — like myself. But, after all, I don't 
see that having the misfortune to be born in a country 
should tie one to it in any sort of way. I should have 
hoped your English edication, Colambre, would have 
given you too liberal idears for that. So I reely don't 
see why you should go to Ireland merely because it's 
your native country." 

** Not merely because it is my native country, but I 
wish to go thither. I desire to become acquainted with 
it, because it is the country in which my father's property 
lies, and from which we draw our subsistence." 

** Subsistence ! Lord bless me ! what a word ! — fitter 
for a pauper than a nobleman. Subsistence ! Then, 



154 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

if you are going to look after your father's property, I 
hope you will make the agents do their duty, and send us 
remittances. And pray, how long do you mean to 
stay ? " 

" Till I am of age, madam, if you have no objection. 
I will spend the ensuing months in travelling in Ireland, 
and I will return here by the time I am of age, unless you 
and my father should before that time be in Ireland." 

'' Not the least chance of that, if I can prevent it, 
I promise you," said Lady Clonbrony. 

Lord Colambre and Miss Nugent sighed. 

*' And I am sure I shall take it very unkindly of you, 
Colambre, if you go and turn out a partisan for Ireland, 
after all, like Grace Nugent." 

** A partisan ! No ; I hope not a partisan, but a friend," 
said Miss Nugent. 

'* Nonsense, child ! I hate to hear people — ^women 
especially, and young ladies particularly — talk of being 
friends to this country or that country. What can they 
know about countries } Better think of being friends 
to themselves, and friends to their friends." 

'* I was wrong," said Miss Nugent, " to call myself a 
friend to Ireland ; I meant to say that Ireland had been 
a friend to me ; that I found Irish friends when I had 
no other, an Irish home when I had no other ; that my 
earliest and happiest years, under your kind care, had 
been spent there ; and that I can never forget that, 
my dear aunt ; I hope you do not wish that I should." 

'' Heaven forbid, my sweet Grace ! " said Lady 
Clonbrony, touched by her voice and manner. '' Heaven 
forbid ! I don't wish you to do or be anything but what 
you are ; for I am convinced there's nothing I could ask 
you would not do for me ; and I can tell you there's 



IRELAND ! OF ALL PLACES. 1 55 

few things you could ask, love, I would not do for 
you." 

A wish was instantly expressed in the eyes of her 
niece. 

Lady Clonbrony, though not usually quick at inter- 
preting the wishes of others, understood and answered 
before she ventured to make her request in words. 

" Ask anything but that, Grace. Return to Clonbrony 
while I am able to live in London, that I never can or will 
do for you or anybody ! " — looking at her son in all the 
pride of obstinacy ; '* so there is an end of the matter. 
Go you where you please, Colambre, and Fll stay where I 
please. I suppose, as your mother, I have a right to 
say as much ? " 

Her son, with the utmost respect, assured her that he 
had no design to infringe upon her undoubted liberty 
of judging for herself ; that he had never interfered, 
except so far as to tell her circumstances of her affairs 
with which she seemed to be totally unacquainted, and 
of which it might be dangerous to her to continue in 
ignorance. 

" Don't talk to me about affairs," cried she, drawing 
her hand away from her son ; " talk to my lord, or my 
lord's agents, since you are going to Ireland, about busi- 
ness. I know nothing about business ; but this I know, I 
shall stay in England, and be in London every season, as 
long as I can afford it ; and when I cannot afford to live 
here, I hope I shall not live anywhere. That's my 
notion of Ufe, and that's my determination, once for all ; 
for if none of the rest of the Clonbrony family have any, 
I thank Heaven I have some spirit." Saying this in her 
most stately manner, she walked out of the room. 



156 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



DUBLIN AFTER THE UNION. 

The tide did not permit the packet to reach the Pigeon- 
house, and the impatient Lord Colambre stepped into 
a boat, and was rowed across the bay of Dublin. It 
was a fine summer morning. The sun shone bright 
on the Wicklow mountains. He admired, he even 
exulted, in the beauty of the prospect ; and all the early 
associations of his childhood and the patriotic hopes 
of his riper years swelled his heart as he approached the 
shores of his native land. But scarcely had he touched 
his mother earth than the whole course of his ideas was 
changed ; and if his heart swelled, it swelled no more 
with pleasurable sensations, for instantly he found 
himself surrounded and attacked by a swarm of beggars 
and harpies, with strange figures and stranger tone ; 
some craving his charity, some snatching away his 
luggage, and at the same time bidding him ** never trouble 
himself," and " never fear." A scramble in the boat 
and on shore for bags and parcels began, and an am- 
phibious fight betwixt men, who had one foot on sea 
and one on land, was seen ; and long and loud the battle 
of trunks and portmanteaus raged. The vanquished 
departed, clinching their empty hands at their opponents, 
and swearing inextinguishable hatred ; while the smiling 
victors stood at ease, each grasping his booty — bag, basket, 
parcel, or portmanteau. ** And, your honour, where 
will these go ? Where will we carry 'em all to, for your 
honour } " — was now the question. Without waiting 
for an answer, most of the goods were carried, at the 
discretion of the porter, to the custom-house, where, 



DUBLIN AFTER THE UNION. 157 

to his lordship's astonishment after this scene of con- 
fusion, he found that he had lost nothing but his patience. 
All his goods were safe, and a few '' tinpennies '' made 
his officious porters happy men and boys ; blessings 
were showered upon his honour, and he was left in peace 

at an excellent hotel in Street, Dublin. He rested, 

refreshed himself, recovered his good humour, and walked 
into the coffee-house, where he found several officers, 
EngHsh, Irish, and Scotch. One English officer, a very 
gentlemanlike, sensible-looking man, of middle age, was 
sitting reading a little pamphlet when Lord Colambre 
entered. He looked up from time to time, and in a few 
minutes rose, and joined the conversation ; it turned 
upon the beauties and defects of the city of Dublin. 
Sir James Brooke — for that was the name of the gentle- 
man — showed one of his brother-officers the book which 
he had been reading, observing that, in his opinion, it 
contained one of the best views of Dublin which he had 
ever seen, evidently drawn by the hands of a master, 
though in a slightly playful and ironical style. It was 
** An Intercepted Letter from China." The conversation 
extended from Dublin to various parts of Ireland, with all 
of which Sir James Brooke showed that he was well 
acquainted. Observing that this conversation was par- 
ticularly interesting to Lord Colambre, and quickly 
perceiving that he was speaking to one not ignorant 
of books. Sir James spoke of different representations 
and misrepresentations of Ireland. In answer to Lord 
Colambre 's inquiries, he named the works which had 
afforded him most satisfaction ; and with discriminative, 
not superficial, celerity, touched on all ancient and modern 
authors on this subject, from Spenser and Davies to 
Young and Beaufort. Lord Colambre became anxious 



158 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

to cultivate the acquaintance of a gentleman who appeared 
so able and willing to afford him information. Sir 
James Brooke, on his part, was flattered by this eagerness 
of attention, and pleased by our hero's manners and 
conversation ; so that, to their mutual satisfaction, 
they spent much of their time together whilst they were 
at this hotel ; and meeting frequently in society in 
Dublin, their acquaintance every day increased and grew 
into intimacy — an intimacy which was highly advanta- 
geous to Lord Colambre's views of obtaining a just idea 
of the state of manners in Ireland. Sir James Brooke 
had at different periods been quartered in various parts 
of the country. He had resided long enough in each 
to become familiar with the people, and had varied his 
residence sufficiently to form comparisons between 
different counties, and the habits and characteristics of 
their inhabitants. Hence he had it in his power to 
direct the attention of our young observer at once to 
the points most worthy of his examination, and to save 
him from the common error of travellers — the deducing 
general conclusions from a few particular cases, or 
arguing from exceptions, as if they were rules. Lord 
Colambre, from his family connections, had, of course, 
immediate introduction into the best society in Dublin, 
or rather into all the good society of Dublin. In DubUn 
there is positively good company, and positively bad ; 
but not, as in London, many degrees of comparison. 
There are not innumerable luminaries of the polite world 
moving in different orbits of fashion, but all the bright 
planets of note and name move and revolve in the same 
narrow limits. Lord Colambre did not find that either 
his father's or his mother's representations of society 
resembled the reality which he now beheld. Lady 



DUBLIN AFTER THE UNION. 1 59 

Clonbrony had, in terms of detestation, described 
Dublin such as it appeared to her soon after the Union. 
Lord Clonbrony had painted it with convivial enthu- 
siasm, such as he S2m it long and long before the Union, 
when " first " he drank claret at the fashionable clubs. 
This picture, unchanged in his memory, and unchange- 
able by his imagination, had remained and ever would 
remain the same. The hospitality of which the father 
boasted the son found in all its warmth, but meliorated 
and refined ; less convivial, more social ; the fashion 
of hospitality had improved. To make the stranger eat 
or drink to excess, to set before him old wine and old 
plate, was no longer the sum of good breeding. The 
guest now escaped the pomp of grand entertainments ; 
was allowed to enjoy ease and conversation, and to taste 
some of that feast of reason and that flow of soul so often 
talked of and so seldom enjoyed. Lord Colambre found 
a spirit of improvement, a desire for knowledge, and a 
taste for science and literature in most companies, par- 
ticularly among gentlemen belonging to the Irish Bar ; 
nor did he in Dublin society see any of that confusion 
of ranks or predominance of vulgarity of which his mother 
had complained. Lady Clonbrony had assured him 
that the last time she had been at the drawing-room at 
the Castle, a lady, whom she afterwards found to be a 
grocer's wife, had turned angrily when her ladyship had ac- 
cidentally trodden on her train , and exclaimed with a strong 
brogue, *' I'll thank you, ma'am, for the rest of my tail." 
Sir James Brooke, to whom Lord Colambre, without 
" giving up his authority," mentioned the fact, declared 
that he had no doubt the thing had happened precisely 
as it was stated ; but that this was one of the extraor- 
dinary cases which ought not to pass into a general rule ; 



l6o MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

that it was a slight instance of that influence of temporary 
causes from which no conclusions as to national manners 
should be drawn. 

" I happened," continued Sir James, *' to be quartered 
in Dublin soon after the Union took place, and I remem- 
ber the great but transient change that appeared. From 
the removal of both Houses of Parliament, most of the 
nobility, and many of the principal families among the 
Irish commoners, either hurried in high hopes to London, 
or retired, disgusted and in despair, to their houses in the 
country. Immediately in Dublin commerce rose into 
the vacated seats of rank ; wealth rose into the place 
of birth. New faces and new equipages appeared. 
People who had never been heard of before started into 
notice, pushed themselves forward, not scrupling to 
elbow their way even at the Castle ; and they were 
presented to my lord lieutenant and to my lady lieu- 
tenant ; for their excellencies might have played their 
viceregal parts to empty benches, had they not admitted 
such persons for the moment to fill their court. Those 
of former times — of hereditary pretensions and high-bred 
minds and manners — ^were scandalised at all this ; and 
they complained, with justice, that the whole tone of 
society was altered ; that the decorum, elegance, polish, 
and charm of society were gone ; and I among the rest," 
said Sir James, ** felt and deplored the change. Now 
it is all over, we may acknowledge that perhaps even those 
things which we felt most disagreeable at the time were 
productive of eventual benefit. Formerly a few families 
set the fashion. From time immemorial everything 
had in Dublin been submitted to their hereditary author- 
ity ; and conversation, though it had been rendered 
polite by their example, was at the same time limited 



DUBLIN AFTER THE UNION. l6l 

within narrow bounds. Young people, educated upon 
a more enlarged plan, in time grew up ; and no authority 
or fashion forbidding it, necessarily rose to their just 
place, and enjoyed their due influence in society. The 
want of manners, joined to the want of knowledge in the 
nouveaux riches^ created universal disgust. They were 
compelled, some by ridicule, some by bankruptcies, to 
fall back into their former places, from which they could 
never more emerge. In the meantime some of the Irish 
nobility and gentry, who had been living at an unusual 
expense in London — an expense beyond their incomes 
— were glad to return home to refit ; and they brought 
with them a new stock of ideas, and some taste for science 
and literature, which within these latter years have 
become fashionable — indeed, indispensable — in London. 
That part of the Irish aristocracy which immediately 
upon the first incursions of the vulgarians had fled in 
despair to their fastnesses in the country, hearing of the 
improvements which had gradually taken place in 
society, and assured of the final expulsion of the barbar- 
ians, ventured from their retreats and returned to their 
posts in town. So that now," concluded Sir James, " you 
find a society in Dublin composed of a most agreeable 
and salutary mixture of birth and education, gentility 
and knowledge, manner and matter. You see pervading 
the whole new life and energy, new talent, new ambition — 
a desire and a determination to improve and be improved 
— a perception that higher distinction can now be obtained 
in almost all company by genius and merit, than by airs 

and dress So much for the higher order. Now, 

among the class of tradesmen and shopkeepers you 
may amuse yourself, my lord, by marking the difference 
between them and persons of the same rank in London." 



1 62 



MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



Lord Colambre had several commissions to execute 
for his EngHsh friends ; and he made it his amusement 
in every shop to observe the manners and habits of the 
people. He remarked that there are in Dublin two 
classes of tradespeople : one who go into business 
intent upon making it their occupation for life, and as a 
slow but sure means of providing for themselves and their 
families ; another class, who take up trade merely as 
a temporary resource, to which they condescend for a 
few years, trusting that they shall in that time make a 
fortune, retire, and commence, or re-commence, gentle- 
men. The Irish regular men of business are Uke all other 
men of business — punctual, frugal, careful, and so forth ; 
with the addition of more intelligence, invention, and 
enterprise than are usually found in Englishmen of the 
same rank. But the Dublin tradesmen pro tempore 
are a class by themselves. They begin without capital, 
buy stock upon credit, in hopes of making large profits, 
and, in the same hopes, sell upon credit. Now, if the 
credit they can obtain is longer than that which they are 
forced to give, they go on and prosper ; if not, they 
break, turn bankrupts, and sometimes as bankrupts 
thrive. By such men, of course, every ** short-cut " to 
fortune is followed ; whilst every habit which requires 
time to prove its advantage is disregarded ; nor with 
such views can a character for punctuality have its just 
value. In the head of a man who intends to be a trades- 
man to-day and a gentleman to-morrow, ideas of honesty 
and the duties of a tradesman, and of the honour and the 
accomplishments of a gentleman, are oddly jumbled 
together, and the characteristics of both are lost in the 
compound. 

He will obhge you, but he will not obey you ; he will 



DUBLIN AFTER THE UNION. 163 

do you a favour, but he will not do you justice ; he will 
do anything to serve you, but the particular thing you 
order he neglects. He asks your pardon, for he would 
not, for all the goods in his warehouse, disobhge you ; 
not for the sake of your custom, but he has a particular 
regard for your family. Economy in the eyes of such 
a tradesman is, if not a mean vice, at least a shabby 
virtue, of which he is too polite to suspect his customers, 
and to which he is proud of proving himself superior. 
Many London tradesmen, after making their thousands 
and their tens of thousands, feel a pride in still continuing 
to live Uke plain men of business ; but from the moment 
a Dublin tradesman of this style has made a few hundreds 
he sets up his gig, and then his head is in his carriage 
and not in his business ; and when he has made a few 
thousands, he buys or builds a country-house ; and 
then and thenceforward his head, heart, and soul are 
in his country-house, and only his body in the shop 
with his customers. 

Whilst he is making money, his wife, or rather his lady, 
is spending twice as much out of town as he makes in it. 
At the word country-house let no one figure to himself 
a snug little box, like that in which a *' warm " London 
citizen, after many years of toil, indulges himself one 
day out of seven in repose, enjoying from his gazabo 
the smell of the dust and the view of passing coaches 
on the London road. No ; these Hibernian villas are 
on a much more magnificent scale. Some of them 
belonged formerly to Irish members of Parliament, 
who were at a distance from their country-seats. After 
the Union these were bought by citizens and tradesmen, 
who spoiled, by the mixture of their own fancies, what 
had been originally designed by men of good taste. 



164 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



LADY DASHFORT. 

No parties were so crowded as Lady Dashfort's ; no 
party deemed pleasant or fashionable where Lady 
Dashfort or Lady Isabel was not. The bon mots of the 
mother were everywhere repeated ; the dress and air 
of the daughter everywhere imitated. Yet Lord 
Colambre could not help being surprised at their popu- 
larity in Dublin, because, independently of all moral 
objections, there were causes of a different sort, sufficient, 
he thought, to prevent Lady Dashfort from being liked 
by the Irish — indeed by any society. She in general 
affected to be ill-bred and inattentive to the feelings and 
opinions of others ; careless whom she offended by her 
wit or by her decided tone. There are some persons 
in so high a region of fashion that they imagine them- 
selves above the thunder of vulgar censure. Her rank 
was so high that none could dare to call her vulgar ; 
what would have been gross in anyone of meaner note, 
in her was freedom, or originality, or Lady Dashfort's 
way. It was Lady Dashfort's pleasure and pride to show 
her power in perverting the pubUc taste. She often 
said to those English companions with whom she was 
intimate, ** Now see what follies I can lead these fools 
into. Hear the nonsense I can make them repeat as wit.'' 
Upon some occasion one of her friends ventured to fear 
that something she had said was too strong. " Too 
strong, was it ? Well, I like to be strong ; woe to 
the weak." On another occasion she was told that 
certain visitors had seen her ladyship yawning. ** Yawn, 
did I ? — glad of it. The yawn sent them away, or I 



LADY DASHFORT. 1 65 

should have snored. Rude was I ? They won't com- 
plain. To say I was rude to them would be to say 
that I did not think it worth my while to be otherwise. 
Barbarians ! are not we the civilized English, come 
to teach them manners and fashions ? Whoever does not 
conform, and swear allegiance too, we shall keep out 
of the English pale." 

With Lord Colambre she played more artfully ; she 
drew him out in defence of his beloved country, and gave 
him opportunities of appearing to advantage : this he 
could not help feeling, especially when Lady Isabel was 
present. Lady Dashfort had dealt long enough with 
human nature to know that to make any man pleased 
with her, she should begin by making him pleased with 
himself. 

After talking over the nothings of the day, and after 
having given two or three cuts at the society of Dublin, 
with two or three compliments to individuals who she 
knew were favourites with his lordship, she suddenly 
turned to him : 

"My lord, I think you told me, or my own sagacity 
discovered, that you want to see something of Ireland, 
and that you don't intend, like most travellers, to turn 
round, see nothing, and go home content." 

Lord Colambre assured her ladyship that she had 
judged him rightly, for that nothing would content him 
but seeing all that was possible to be seen of his native 
country. It was for this special purpose he came to 
Ireland. 

** Ah ! well ; very good purpose ; can't be better. 
But now, how to accomplish it. You know the Portu- 
guese proverb says, * You go to hell for the good things 
you intend to do, and to heaven for those you do.' Now 



1 66 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

let US see what you will do. Dublin, I suppose, you've 
seen enough of by this time — through and through — 
round and round ; this makes me first giddy and then 
sick. Let me show you the country — not tlie face of it, 
but the body of it — the people. Not Castle this or 
Newtown that, but their inhabitants. I know them — 
I have the key or the picklock to their minds. An 
Irishman is as different an animal on his guard and off 
his guard as a miss in school from a miss out of school. 
A fine country for game FU show you ; and if you are a 
good marksman, you may have plenty of shots ' at folly 
as it flies.' " 

Every objection anticipated and removed, and so far 
a prospect held out of attaining all the information he 
desired, with more than all the amusement he could 
have expected. Lord Colambre seemed much tempted 
to accept the invitation ; but he hesitated, because, 
as he said, her ladyship might be going to pay visits 
to persons with whom he was not acquainted. 

** Bless you ! don't let that be a stumbHng-block 
in the way of your tender conscience. I am going to 
Killpatrickstown, where you'll be as welcome as light. 
You know them, they know you — at least you shall have 
a proper letter of invitation from my lord and my lady 
Killpatrick, and all that. And as to the rest, you know, 
a young man is always welcome everywhere, a young 
nobleman kindly welcome — I won't say such a young 
man and such a young nobleman, for that might put 
you to your bows or your blushes ; but nobilitas by itself, 
nobility is virtue enough in all parties, in all families 
where there are girls, and, of course, balls, as there are 
always at Killpatrickstown. Don't be alarmed ; you 
shall not be forced to dance, or asked to marry. I'll 



LADY DASHFORT. 1 67 

be your security. You shall be at full liberty, and it is 
a house where you can do just what you will. Indeed, 
I go to no others. These Killpatricks are the best 
creatures in the world ; they think nothing good or grand 
enough for me. If Fd let them, they would lay down 
cloth of gold over their bogs for me to walk upon. Good- 
hearted beings,'' added Lady Dashfort, marking a cloud 
gathering on Lord Colambre's countenance ; ** I laugh 
at them because I love them. I could not love anything 
I might not laugh at — your lordship excepted. So 
you'll come— that's settled." 

And so it was settled. Our hero went to Killpatricks- 
town. 

" Everything here sumptuous and unfinished, you see," 
said Lady Dashfort to Lord Colambre the day after their 
arrival ; "all begun as if the projectors thought they had 
the command of the mines of Peru ; and ended as if 
the possessors had not sixpence. Luxuries enough 
for an English prince of the blood, but not enough 
comforts for an English yeoman. And you may be sure 
that great repairs and alterations have gone on, to fit 
this house for our reception, and for our English eyes ! 
Poor people ! English visitors, in this point of view, are 
horribly expensive to the Irish. Did you ever hear that 
in the last century, or in the century before the last — 
to put my story far enough back, so that it shall not 
touch anybody living — when a certain English nobleman, 
Lord Blank A — — , sent to let his Irish friend. Lord 

Blank B , know that he and all his train were coming 

over to pay him a visit, the Irish nobleman, Blank B , 

knowing the deplorable condition of his castle, sat down 
fairly to calculate whether it would cost him most to put 
the building in good and sufficient repair fit to receive 



1 68 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

these English visitors, or to burn it to the ground. He 
found the balance to be in favour of burning, which was 
wisely accomplished next day. Perhaps Killpatrick 
would have done well to follow this example. Resolve 
me which is worst — to be burnt out of house and home, 
or to be eaten out of house and home ? In this house, 
above and below stairs, including first and second table, 
housekeeper's room, lady's maid's room, butler's room, 
and gentlemen's, one hundred and four people sit down 
to dinner every day, as Petito informs me, besides 
kitchen-boys, and what they call cAar-women, who never 
sit down, but who do not eat or waste the less for that, 
and retainers and friends — friends to the fifth and sixth 
generation, who * must get their bit and their sup ' ; 
for — * Sure, it's only Biddy,' they say," continued Lady 
Dashfort, imitating their Irish brogue. " And, * sure, 
'tis nothing at all out of all his honour, my lord, has. 
How could he feel it ! Long Hfe to him ! He's not 
that way ; not a couple in all Ireland, and that's saying 
a great dale, looks less after their own, nor is more off- 
handeder or open-hearteder, or greater open-house- 
keepers, nor my Lord and my Lady Killpatrick.' Now 
there's encouragement for a lord and a lady to ruin 
themselves." 

Lady Dashfort imitated the Irish brogue in perfection ; 
boasted that " she was mistress of fourteen diflferent 
brogues, and had brogues for all occasions." By her 
mixture of mimicry, sarcasm, exaggeration, and truth, 
she succeeded in making Lord Colambre laugh at every- 
thing at which she wished to make him laugh ; at every- 
^hing, but not at everyZ^ot/y. Whenever she became 
personal he became serious, or at least endeavoured to 
become serious ; and if he could not instantly resume 



LADY DASHFORT. 169 

the command of his risible muscles, he reproached 
himself. 

'' It is shameful to laugh at these people, indeed. 
Lady Dashfort, in their own house — these hospitable 
people who are entertaining us." 

** Entertaining us ! True ; and if we are entertained, 
how can we help laughing ? '' 

All expostulation was thus turned off by a jest, as it 
was her pride to make Lord Colambre laugh in spite 
of his better feelings and principles. This he saw, and 
this seemed to him to be her sole object ; but there he 
was mistaken. Off-handed as she pretended to be, 
none dealt more in the impromptu fait a loisir ; and, 
mentally short-sighted as she affected to be, none had 
more longanimity for their own interest. 

It was her settled purpose to make the Irish and Ireland 
ridiculous and contemptible to Lord Colambre, to 
disgust him with his native country, to make him abandon 
the wish of residing on his own estate. To confirm him 
an absentee was her object, previously to her ultimate 
plan of marrying him to her daughter. Her daughter 
was poor ; she would, therefore, be glad to get an Irish 
peer for her ; but would be sorry very, she said, to see 
Isabel banished to Ireland ; and the young widow 
declared she could never bring herself to be buried alive 
in Clonbrony Castle. 

From this time forward, not a day, scarcely an hour 
passed, but her ladyship did or said something to depre- 
ciate the country, or its inhabitants, in our hero's estima- 
tion. With treacherous ability she knew and followed 
all the arts of misrepresentation ; all those injurious arts 
which his friend Sir James Brooke had with such honest 
indignation reprobated. She knew how not only to seize 



lyo . MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

the ridiculous points to make the most respectable 
people ridiculous, but she knew how to select the worst 
instances, the worst exceptions ; and to produce them as 
examples, as precedents, from which to condemn whole 
classes and establish general false conclusions respecting 
a nation. 

No one could with more ease and more knowledge of 
her ground than Lady Dashfort do the dishonours of 
a country. 



COUNT O'HALLORAN. 

One morning Lady Dashfort had formed an ingenious 
scheme for leaving Lady Isabel and Lord Colambre 
tete-d'tete, but the sudden entrance of Heathcock dis- 
concerted her intentions. He came to beg Lady Dash- 
fort's interest with Count O'Halloran for permission 
to hunt and shoot on his grounds next season. '* Not 
for myself, 'pon honour, but for two officers who are 
quartered at the next town here, who will indubitably 
hang or drown themselves if they are debarred from 
sporting." 

'' Who is this Count O'Halloran ? " said Lord 
Colambre. 

Miss White, Lady Killpatrick's companion, said ** he 
was a great oddity " ; Lady Dashfort, ** that he was 
singular " ; and the clergyman of the parish, who was 
at breakfast, declared, *' that he was a man of uncommon 
knowledge, merit, and politeness." 



COUNT O HALLORAN. IJJ 

"All I know of him," said Heathcock, "is, that he 
is a great sportsman, with a long queue, a gold-laced hat, 
and long skirts to a laced waistcoat." 

Lord Colambre expressed a wish to see this extraor- 
dinary personage ; and Lady Dashfort, to cover her 
former design, and perhaps thinking absence might be 
as effectual as too much propinquity, immediately 
offered to call upon the officers in their way and carry 
them with Heathcock and Lord Colambre to Halloran 
Castle. 

They arrived at Halloran Castle — a fine old building, 
part of it in ruins, and part repaired with great judgment 
and taste. When the carriage stopped, a respectable- 
looking man-servant appeared on the steps, at the open 
hall door. 

Count O'Halloran was out fishing, but his servant said 
that he would be at home immediately, if Lady Dashfort 
and the gentlemen would be pleased to walk in. 

On one side of the lofty and spacious hall stood the 
skeleton of an elk ; on the other side, the perfect skeleton 
of a moose-deer, which, as the servant said, his master 
had made out with great care from the different bones 
of many of this curious species of deer found in the lakes 
in the neighbourhood. The leash of officers witnessed 
their wonder with sundry strange oaths and exclama- 
tions : 

" Eh ! 'pon honour — re'Uy now ! " said Heathcock ; 
and too genteel to wonder at or admire anything in the 
creation, dragged out his watch with some difficulty, 
saying, " I wonder, now, whether they are likely to think 
of giving us anything to eat in this place ? " And 
turning his back upon the moose-deer, he straight 



172 MARIA EDCEWORTH. 

walked out again upon the steps, called to his groom, 
and began to make some inquiry about his led horse. 
Lord Colambre surveyed the prodigious skeletons 
with rational curiosity, and with that sense of awe and 
admiration by which a superior mind is always struck 
on beholding any of the great works of Providence. 

*' Come, my dear lord ! " said Lady Dashfort ; *' with 
our sublime sensations, we are keeping my old friend, 
Mr. Ulick Brady, this venerable person, waiting to show 
us into the reception-room." 

The servant bowed respectfully — more respectfully 
than servants of modern date. 

** My lady, the reception-room has been lately painted ; 
the smell of paint may be disagreeable ; with your leave, 
I will take the liberty of showing you into my master's 
study." 

He opened the door, went in before her, and stood 
holding up his finger as if making a signal of silence to 
someone within. Her ladyship entered, and found 
herself in the midst of an odd assembly — an eagle, a goat, 
a dog, an otter, several gold and silver fish in a glass globe, 
and a white mouse in a cage. The eagle, quick of eye 
but quiet of demeanour, was perched upon his stand ; 
the otter lay under the table, perfectly harmless ; the 
Angora goat, a beautiful and remarkable little creature 
of its kind, with long, curling, silky hair, was walking 
about the room with the air of a beauty and a favourite ; 
the dog, a tall Irish greyhound — one of the few of that 
fine race, which is now almost extinct — had been given 
to Count O'Halloran by an Irish nobleman, a relation 
of Lady Dashfort's. This dog, which had formerly 
known her ladyship, looked at her with ears erect, recog- 
nised her^ and went to meet her the moment she entered. 



COUNT O HALLORAN I73 

The servant answered for the peaceable behaviour of all 
the rest of the company of animals, and retired. Lady 
Dashfort began to feed the eagle from a silver plate on 
his stand ; Lord Colambre examined the inscription 
on his collar ; the other men stood in amaze. Heathcock, 
who came in last, astonished out of his constant " Eh ! 
re'lly now ! " the moment he put himself in at the door, 
exclaimed, " Zounds ! what's all this live lumber ? " — ■ 
and he stumbled over the goat, who was at that moment 
crossing the way. The colonel's spur caught in the goat's 
curly beard ; the colonel shook his foot, and entangled 
the spur worse and worse ; the goat struggled and butted ; 
the colonel skated forward on the polished oak floor, 
balancing himself with outstretched arms. 

The indignant eagle screamed, and passing by, perched 
on Heathcock 's shoulders. Too well-bred to have 
recourse to the terrors of his beak, he scrupled not to 
scream, and flap his wings about the colonel's ears. 
Lady Dashfort the while threw herself back in her chair, 
laughing, and begging Heathcock's pardon. " Oh ! 
take care of the dog, my dear colonel ! " cried she ; 
" for this kind of dog seizes his enemy by the back, and 
shakes him to death." The officers, holding their sides, 
laughed, and begged — no pardon. Lord Colambre, 
the only person who was not absolutely incapacitated, 
tried to disentangle the spur, and to liberate the colonel 
from the goat, and the goat from the colonel — an attempt 
in which he at last succeeded, at the expense of a consider- 
able portion of the goat's beard. The eagle, however, 
still kept his place ; and yet mindful of the wrongs of 
his insulted friend the goat, had stretched his wings 
to give another buff^et. Count O'Halloran entered ; 
and the bird, quitting his prey, flew down to greet his 



174 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

master. The count was a fine old military-looking 
gentleman, fresh from fishing. With his fishing accoutre- 
ments hanging carelessly about him, he advanced, un- 
embarrassed, to Lady Dashfort, and received his other 
guests with a mixture of military ease and gentlemanlike 
dignity. 

Without adverting to the awkward and ridiculous 
situation in which he had found poor Heathcock, he 
apologised in general for his troublesome favourites. 
'* For one of them," said he, patting the head of the dog, 
which lay quiet at Lady Dashfort's feet, ** I see I have 
no need to apologise ; he is where he ought to be. Poor 
fellow ! he has never lost his taste for the good com- 
pany to w^hich he was early accustomed. As to the rest," 
said he, turning to Lady Dashfort, *' a mouse, a bird, 
and a fish are, you know, tribute from earth, air, and 
water, to a conqueror." 

" But from no barbarous Scythian ! " said Lord 
Colambre, smiling. The count looked at Lord Colambre 
as at a person worthy his attention ; but his first care 
was to keep the peace between his loving subjects and his 
foreign visitors. It was difficult to disloge the old settlers, 
and to make room for the new comers ; but he adjusted 
these things with admirable faciUty, and with a master's 
hand and master's eye compelled each favourite to retreat 
into the back settlements. With becoming attention 
he stroked and kept his eagle, old Victory, quiet, who 
eyed Colonel Heathcock still as if he did not like him, 
and which the colonel eyed as if he wished his neck 
fairly wrung oflF. The little goat had nestled himself close 
to his liberator. Lord Colambre, and lay perfectly quiet 
with his eyes closed, going very wisely to sleep, and 
submitting philosophically to the loss of one-half of his 



COUNT O HALLORAN. I75 

beard. Conversation now commenced, and was carried 
on by Count O'Halloran with much ability and spirit, 
and with such quickness of discrimination and deUcacy 
of taste as quite surprised and dehghted our hero. To the 
lady the count's attention was first directed. He listened 
to her as she spoke, bending with an air of deference 
and devotion. She made her request for permission 
for Major Benson and Captain Williamson to hunt and 
shoot in his grounds next season, which was instantly 
granted. 

" Her ladyship's requests were to him commands," 
the count said. *' His gamekeeper should be instructed 
to give the gentlemen, her friends, every liberty and all 
possible assistance." 

Then turning to the officers, he said he had just heard 
that several regiments of English militia had lately 
landed in Ireland ; that one regiment was at Killpatricks- 
town. He rejoiced in the advantages Ireland, and he 
hoped he might be permitted to add England, would 
probably derive from the exchange of the militia of both 
countries ; habits would be improved, ideas enlarged. 
The two countries have the same interest ; and from 
the inhabitants discovering more of each other's good 
qualities, and interchanging little good offices in common 
life, their esteem and affection for each other would 
increase, and rest upon the firm basis of mutual utiUty. 

To all this Major Benson answered only, ** We are not 
mihtia officers." 

** The major looks so like a stuff'ed man of straw," 
whispered Lady Dashfort to Lord Colambre, " and the 
captain so like the knave of clubs, putting forth one manly 
leg." 

Count O'Halloran now turned the conversation to 



176 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

field sports, and then the captain and major opened at 
once. 

But at this instant our hero's attention was distracted 
by seeing in a black-letter book this title of a chapter : 
** Burial-place of the Nugents/' 

The count produced from an Indian cabinet, which he 
had opened for the lady's inspection, a little basket 
containing a variety of artificial flies, of curious con- 
struction, which, as he spread them on the table, made 
Williamson and Benson's eyes almost sparkle with 
delight. There was the dun-fly, for the month of March ; 
and the stone-fly, much in vogue for April ; and the 
ruddy-fly, of red wool, black silk, and red capon's 
feathers. 

** And the green-fly, and the moorish-fly ! " cried 
Benson, snatching them up with transport ; " and chief, 
the sad yellow-fly, in which the fish delight in June ; 
the sad-yellow-fly, made with the buzzard's wings, 
bound with black braked hemp ; and the shell-fly, for 
the middle of July, made of greenish wool, wrapped about 
with the herle of a peacock's tail, famous for creating 
excellent sport." All these and more were spread upon 
the table before the sportsmen's wondering eyes. 

** Capital flies ! capital, faith ! " cried Williamson. 

" Treasures, faith ! real treasures, by G — ! " cried 
Benson. 

" Eh, 'pon honour ! re'lly now," were the first words 
which Heathcock had uttered since his battle with the 
goat. 

*' My dear Heathcock, are you alive still ? " said Lady 
Dashfort ; ** I had really forgotten your existence." 

So had Count O'Halloran, but he did not say so. 

" Your ladyship has the advantage of me there," said 



COUNT o'halloran. 177 

Heathcock, stretching himself ; ** I wish I could forget 
my existence, for, in my mind, existence is a horrible 
bore." 

" I thought you was a sportsman," said Williamson. 

" Well, sir ? " 

*' And a fisherman ? " 

" Well, sir ? " 

** Why, look you there, sir," pointing to the flies, ** and 
tell a body life's a bore." 

** One can't always fish or shoot, I apprehend," said 
Heathcock. 

** Not always — but sometimes," said WiUiamson, 
laughing ; ** for I suspect shrewdly you've forgotten 
some of your sporting in Bond Street." 

'' Eh ! 'pon honour ! re'lly now ! " said the colonel, 
retreating again to his safe entrenchment of affectation, 
from which he never could venture without imminent 
danger. 

** 'Pon honour," cried Lady Dashfort, " I can swear 
for Heathcock that I have eaten excellent hares and ducks 
of his shooting, which, to my knowledge," added she 
in a loud whisper, ** he bought in the market." 

** Emptutn oprum ! " said Lord Colambre to the count, 
without danger of being understood by those whom 
it concerned. 

The count smiled a second time ; but politely turning 
the attention of the company from the unfortunate 
colonel by addressing himself to the laughing sportsmen, 
'* Gentlemen, you seem to value these," said he, sweeping 
the artificial flies from the table into the little basket 
from which they had been taken ; ** would you do me 
the honour of accepting them ? They are all of my own 
making, and consequently of Irish manufacture." Then 



178 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

ringing the bell, he asked Lady Dashfort's permission 
to have the basket put into her carriage. 

Benson and WiUiamson followed the servant, to prevent 
them from being tossed into the boot. Heathcock stood 
still in the middle of the room, taking snuff. 

Count O'Halloran turned from him to Lord Colambre, 
who had just got happily to the burial-place of the 
Nugents, when Lady Dashfort, coming between them 
and spying the title of the chapter, exclaimed : 

** What have you there ? Antiquities ! My delight ! 
But I never look at engravings when I can see realities." 

Lord Colambre was then compelled to follow, as she 
led the w^ay into the hall, where the count took down 
golden ornaments, and brass-headed spears, and jointed 
horns of curious workmanship, that had been found on 
his estate ; and he told of spermaceti wrapped in carpets, 
and he showed small urns enclosing ashes ; and from 
among these urns he selected one which he put into 
the hands of Lord Colambre, telling him that it had 
been lately found in an old abbey-ground in his neigh- 
bourhood, which had been the burial-place of some of 
the Nugent family. 

** I was just looking at the account of it in the book 
which you saw open on my table. As you seem to take 
an interest in that family, my lord, perhaps,'' said the 
count, '* you may think this urn worth your acceptance." 

Lord Colambre said, *' It would be highly valuable 
to him, as the Nugents were his near relations." 

Lady Dashfort little expected this blow ; she, however, 
carried him off to the moose-deer, and from moose-deer 
to round towers, to various architectural antiquities, and 
to the real and fabulous history of Ireland ; on all which 
the count spoke with learning and enthusiasm. But 



COUNT o'halloran. 179 

now, to Colonel Heathcock's great joy and relief, a 
handsome collation appeared in the dining-room, of 
which UHck opened the folding-doors. 

'' Count, you have made an excellent house of your 
castle,'' said Lady Dashfort. 

'' It will be when it is finished," said the count ; '' I 
am afraid," added he smihng, '' I live like many other 
Irish gentlemen, who never are, but always to be, blessed 
with a good house. I began upon too large a scale, 
and can never hope to live to finish it. 

" 'Pon honour ! here's a good thing, which I hope 
we shall live to finish," said Heathcock, sitting down 
before the collation ; and heartily did he eat of grouse-pie 
and of Irish ortolans, which, as Lady Dashfort observed, 
'' atforded him indemnity for the past and security for 
the future." 

*' Eh ! re'lly now, your Irish ortolans are famous 
good eating," said Heathcock. 

*' Worth being quartered in Ireland, faith, to taste 'em," 
said Benson. 

Whilst '' they prolonged the rich repast," Lady 
Dashfort and Lord Colambre went to the window to 
admire the prospect. Lady Dashfort asked the count 
the name of some distant hill. 

" Ah," said the count, " that hill was once covered 
with fine wood ; but it was all cut down two years ago." 

" Who could have been so cruel ? " said her ladyship. 

" I forget the present proprietor's name," said the 
count ; ** but he is one of those who, according to the 
clause of distress in their leases, lead, drive, and carry 
away, but never enter their lands ; one of those enemies 
to Ireland — these cruel absentees ! " 

Lady Dashfort looked through her glass at the moun- 



l80 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

tain. Lord Colambre sighed, and, endeavouring to pass 
it off with a smile, said frankly to the count : 

" You are not aware, I am sure, count, that you are 
speaking to the son of an Irish absentee family. Nay, 
do not be shocked, my dear sir ; I tell you only because 
I thought it fair to do so. But let me assure you that 
nothing you could say on that subject could hurt me 
personally, because I feel that I am not, that I never can 
be, an enemy to Ireland. An absentee voluntarily I 
never yet have been ; and as to the future, I declare " 

** I declare you know nothing of the future," inter- 
rupted Lady Dashfort, in a half-peremptory, half-playful 
tone. ** You know nothing ; make no rash vows, and 
you will break none.'* 

The undaunted assurance of Lady Dashfort's genius 
for intrigue gave her an air of frank imprudence which 
prevented Lord Colambre from suspecting that more 
was meant than met the ear. The count and he took 
leave of one another with mutual regard ; and Lady 
Dashfort rejoiced to have got our hero out of Halloran 
Castle. 



A GOOD LAND-AGENT. 

Some of the principal gentry of this part of the country 
happened to dine at Oranmore during Lord Colambre's 
visit. He was surprised at the discovery that there were 
so many agreeable, well-informed and well-bred people, 
of whom, while he was at Killpatrickstown, he had seen 
nothing. He now discerned how far he had been deceived 
by Lady Dashfort. 



A GOOD LAND-AGENT. l8l 

Both the count and Lord and Lady Oranmore, who 
were warmly attached to their country, exhorted him 
to make amends for the time he had lost by seeing with 
his own eyes and judging with his own understanding 
of the country and its inhabitants during the remainder 
of the time he was to stay in Ireland. The higher 
classes in most countries, they observed, were generally 
similar, but in the lower class he would find many charac- 
teristic differences. 

When he first came to Ireland he had been very eager 
to go and see his father's estate, and to judge of the 
conduct of his agents and the condition of his tenantry ; 
but this eagerness had subsided, and the design had almost 
faded from his mind, whilst under the influence of Lady 
Dashfort's misrepresentations. A mistake relative to 
some remittance from his banker in Dublin obliged him 
to delay his journey a few days, and during that time 
Lord and Lady Oranmore showed him the neat cottages 
and well-attended schools in their neighbourhood. 
They showed him not only what could be done, but what 
had been done, by the influence of great proprietors 
residing on their own estates, and encouraging the people 
by judicious kindness. 

He saw, he acknowledged, the truth of this ; but it 
did not come home to his feelings now as it would have 
done a little while ago. His views and plans were altered. 
He looked forward to the idea of marrying and settling 
in Ireland, and then everything in the country was 
interesting to him ; but since he had forbidden himself 
to think of a union with Miss Nugent his mind had lost 
its object ; he was not sufficiently calm to think of the 
public good, his thoughts were absorbed by his private 
concern. He knew and admitted that he ought to visit 



1 82 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

his own and his father's estates and to see the condition 
of his tenantry ; he desired to fulfil his duties, but they 
ceased to appear to him easy and pleasurable, for hope 
and love no longer brightened his prospects. 

That he might see and hear more than he could do as 
heir-apparent to the estate, he sent his servant to Dublin 
to wait for him there. He travelled incognito^ wrapped 
himself in a shabby greatcoat, and took the name of 
Evans. He arrived at a village, or, as it was called, a 
town, which bore the name of Colambre. He was 
agreeably surprised by the air of neatness and finish in 
the houses and in the street, which had a nicely-swept 
paved footway. He slept in a small but excellent inn — 
excellent perhaps because it was small, and proportioned 
to the situation and business of the place. Good supper, 
good bed, good attendance ; nothing out of repair ; 
no things pressed into services for which they were never 
intended by nature or art ; none of what are vulgarly 
called make-shifts. No chambermaid slipshod, or waiter 
smelling of whiskey ; but everybody doing their own 
business, and doing it as if it were their every-day occupa- 
tion, not as if it were done by particular desire for the first 
or last time this season. The landlord came in at supper 
to inquire whether anything was wanted. Lord Colambre 
took this opportunity of entering into conversation with 
him, and asked him to whom the town belonged, and who 
were the proprietors of the neighbouring estates. 

*' The town belongs to an absentee lord — one Lord 
Clonbrony, who lives always beyond the seas, in London, 
and who had never seen the town since it was worthy of 
the name." 

" And does the land in the neighbourhood belong 
to this Lord Clonbrony ? " 



A GOOD LAND-AGENT. 1 83 

" It does, sir ; he is a great proprietor, but knows 
nothing of his property, nor of us. Never set foot among 
us, to my knowledge, since I was as high as the table. 
He might as well be a West India planter, and we negroes, 
for anything he knows to the contrary — has no more care 
nor thought about us than if we were in Jamaica or the 
other world. Shame for him ! But there's too many 
to keep him in countenance." 

Lord Colambre asked him what wine he could have ; 
and then inquired who managed the estate for this 
absentee. 

"Mr. Burke, sir. And I don't know why God was so 
kind to give so good an agent to an absentee like Lord 
Clonbrony, except it was for the sake of us who is under 
him, and knows the blessing, and is thankful for the 
same." 

" Very good cutlets," said Lord Colambre. 

** I am happy to hear it, sir. They have a right to be 
good, for Mrs. Burke sent her own cook to teach my wife 
to dress cutlets." 

" So the agent is a good agent, is he ? " 

" He is, thanks be to heaven ! And that's what few 
can boast, especially when the landlord's living over the 
seas. We have the luck to have got a good agent over us 
in Mr. Burke, who is a right-bred gentleman. He has a 
snug little property of his own, honestly made ; with the 
good will and good wishes and respect of all." 

*' Does he live in the neighbourhood ? " 

'' Just convanient. At the end of the town ; in the 
house on the hill as you passed, sir ; to the left, with the 
trees about it, all of his own planting, finely grown too — 
for there's a blessing on all he does — and he has done a 
deal." 



184 xMARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" There's salad, sir, if you are partial to it. Very fine 
lettuce. Mrs. Burke sent us the plants herself." 

'* Excellent salad ! So this Mr Burke has done a great 
deal, has he ? In what way ? " 

** In every way, sir. Sure was it not he that had 
improved and fostered and made the town of Colambre ? 
No thanks to the proprietor nor to the young man whose 
name it bears, neither." 

'' Have you any porter, sir ? " 

** We have, sir, as good, I hope, as you'd drink in 
London, for it's the same you get there, I understand, 
from Cork. And I have some of my own brewing, which, 
they say, you could not tell the difference between it 
and Cork quality — if you'd be pleased to try. Harry, 
the corkscrew." 

The porter of his own brewing was pronounced to be 
extremely good ; and the landlord observed it was Mr. 
Burke encouraged him to learn to brew, and lent him 
his own brewer for a time to teach him. 

** Your Mr. Burke, I find, is apropos to porter, apropos 
to salad, apropos to cutlets, apropos to everything," said 
Lord Colambre, smiHng. " He seems to be a very 
uncommon agent. I suppose you are a great favourite 
of his, and you do what you please with him." 

*' Oh no, sir ; I could not say that. Mr. Burke does 
not have favourites anyway ; but, according to my 
deserts, I trust I stand well enough with him, for, in 
truth, he is a right good agent." 

Upon making further inquiries, everything the inn- 
keeper had said was confirmed by diflFerent inhabitants of 
the village. Lord Colambre conversed with the shop- 
keepers, with the cottagers ; and without making any 
alarming inquiries, he obtained ^11 the information he 



A GOOD LAND-AGENT. 1 85 

wanted. He went to the village school — a pretty cheerful 
house, with a neat garden and a play-green ; met Mrs. 
Burke ; introduced himself to her as a traveller. The 
school was shown to him. It was just what it ought 
to be — neither too much nor too little had been attempted ; 
there was neither too much interference nor too little 
attention. Nothing for exhibition ; care to teach well, 
without any vain attempt to teach in a wonderfully short 
time. All that experience proves to be useful in both 
Dr. Bell's and Mr. Lancaster's modes of teaching Mrs. 
Burke had adopted, leaving it to '' graceless zealots " to 
fight about the rest. That no attempts at proselytism 
had been made, and that no ilHberal distinctions had been 
made in his school, Lord Colambre was convinced, 
in the best manner possible, by seeing the children of 
Protestants and Catholics sitting on the same benches, 
learning from the same books, and speaking to one 
another with the same cordial familiarity. Mrs. Burke 
was an unaffected, sensible woman, free from all party 
prejudices, and, without ostentation, desirous and 
capable of doing good. Lord Colambre was much 
pleased with her, and very glad that she invited him to tea. 
Mr. Burke did not come in till late, for he had been 
detained portioning out some meadows which were of 
great consequence to the inhabitants of the town. He 
brought home to tea with him the clergyman and the 
priest of the parish, both of whom he had taken successful 
pains to accommodate with the land which suited them. 
The good terms on which they seemed to be with each 
other, and with him, appeared to Lord Colambre to do 
honour to Mr. Burke. All the favourable accounts 
his lordship had received of this gentleman were confirmed 
by what he saw and heard. After the clergyman and 



l86 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

priest had taken leave, upon Lord Colambre's expressing 
some surprise, mixed with satisfaction, at seeing the 
harmony which subsisted between them, Mr. Burke 
assured him that this was the same in many parts of 
Ireland. He observed that, ** as the suspicion of ill-will 
never fails to produce it," so he had often found that, 
taking it for granted that no ill-will exists, has the most 
conciliating effect. He said, to please opposite parties, 
he used no arts ; but he tried to make all his neighbours 
live comfortably together, by making them acquainted 
with each other's good qualities ; by giving them oppor- 
tunities of meeting sociably, and from time to time of 
doing each other little services and good offices. '' For- 
tunately, he had so much to do," he said, ** that he had 
no time for controversy. He was a plain man, made it 
a rule not to meddle with speculative points, and to 
avoid all irritating discussions ; he was not to rule the 
country, but to live in it, and make others live as happily 
as he could." 

Having nothing to conceal in his character, opinions, 
or circumstances, Mr. Burke was perfectly open and 
unreserved in his manner and conversation ; freely 
answered all the traveller's inquiries, and took pains 
to show him everything he desired to see. Lord 
Colambre said he had thoughts of settling in Ireland ; 
and declared, with truth, that he had not seen any part 
of the country he should like better to live in than this 
neighbourhood. He went over most of the estate with 
Mr. Burke, and had ample opportunities of convincing 
himself that this gentleman was indeed, as the innkeeper 
had described him, '' a right good gentleman, and a right 
good agent." 

He paid Mr. Burke some just compliments on the state 



A GOOD LAND-AGENT. 1 87 

of the tenantry, and the neat and flourishing appearance 
of the town of Colambre. 

" What pleasure it will give the proprietor when he 
sees all you have done ! " said Lord Colambre. 

'' Oh, sir, don't speak of it ! That breaks my heart. 
He never has shown the least interest in anything I have 
done ; he is quite dissatisfied with me becuase I have 
not ruined his tenantry by forcing them to pay more 
than the land is worth ; because I have not squeezed 
money from them by fining down rents ; and — but all 
this, as an Englishman, sir, must be unintelligible to you. 
The end of the matter is, that, attached as I am to this 
place and the people about me, and, as I hope, the 
tenantry are to me, I fear I shall be obliged to give up 
the agency." 

" Give up the agency ! How so ? You must not," 
cried Lord Colambre ; and for the moment he forgot 
himself. But Mr. Burke took this only for an expression 
of good-will. 

*' I must, I am afraid," continued he. ** My employer. 
Lord Clonbrony, is displeased with me — continual calls 
for money come upon me from England, and complaints 
of my slow remittances." 

" Perhaps Lord Clonbrony is in embarrassed cir- 
cumstances," said Lord Colambre. 

** I never speak of my employer's affairs, sir," replied 
Mr. Burke, now for the first time assuming an air of 
reserve. 

*' I beg pardon ; I seem to have asked an indiscreet 
question." 

Mr. Burke was silent. 

" Lest my reserve should give you a false impression, 
I will add, sir," resumed Mr. Burke, ** that I really am 



1 88 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

not acquainted with the state of his lordship's affairs 
in general. I know only what belongs to the estate 
under my own management. The principal part of his 
lordship's property, the Clonbrony estate, is under 
another agent, Mr. Garraghty." 

" Garraghty ! " repeated Lord Colambre. " What 
sort of a person is he ? But I may take it for granted 
that it cannot fall to the lot of one and the same absentee 
to have two such agents as Mr. Burke." 

Mr. Burke bowed, and seemed pleased with the com- 
pliment, which he knew he deserved. But not a word 
did he say of Mr. Garraghty ; and Lord Colambre, 
afraid of betraying himself by some other indiscreet 
question, changed the conversation. 



LARRY THE POSTILION. 

He pursued his way to Clonbrony, his father's other 
estate, which was at a considerable distance from 
Colambre. He was resolved to know what kind of agent 
Mr. Nicholas Garraghty might be, who was to supersede 
Mr. Burke, and by power of attorney to be immediately 
entitled to receive and manage the Colambre as well as 
the Clonbrony estate. 

Towards the evening of the second day's journey the 
driver of Lord Colambre's hackney chaise stopped, and, 
jumping off the wooden bar on which he had been seated, 
exclaimed : 

'* We're come to the bad part now. The bad road's 
beginning upon us, plase your honour." 



LARRY THE POSTILION. 189 

" Bad road ! That is very uncommon in this country. 
I never saw such fine roads as you have in Ireland." 

'* That's true, and God bless your honour that's 
sensible of that same ; for it is not what all the foreign 
quality I drive have the manners to notice. God bless 
your honour ! I beard you're a Welshman ; but whether 
or no, I am sure you are a gentleman anyway, Welsh 
or other." 

Notwithstanding the shabby greatcoat, the shrewd 
postilion perceived by our hero's language that he was a 
gentleman. After much dragging at the horses' heads, 
and pushing and lifting, the carriage was got over what the 
postilion said was the worst part of " the bad step '' ; 
but as the road " was not yet to say good," he continued 
walking beside the carriage. 

" It's only bad just hereabouts, and that by accident," 
said he, **on account of there being no jantleman resident 
in it, nor near ; but only a bit of an under-agent, a great 
little rogue, who gets his own turn out of the roads and 
everything else in life. I, Larry Brady, that am telling 
your honour, have a good right to know ; for myself, 
and my father, and my brother, Pat Brady, the wheel- 
wright, had once a farm under him, but was ruined — 
horse and foot, all along with him — and cast out ; and 
my brother forced to fly the country, and is now working 
in some coachmaker's yard in London, banished he is ; 
and here am I forced to be what I am. And now that 
I'm reduced to drive a hack, the agent's a curse to me 
still, with these bad roads killing my horses and wheels 
and a shame to the country, which I think more of — 
bad luck to him ! " 

" I know your brother ; he lives with Mr. Mordicai 
in Long Acre, in London." 



igo MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

'' Oh, God bless you for that ! " 

They came at this time within view of a range of about 
four and twenty men and boys, sitting astride on four 
and twenty heaps of broken stones on each side of the road ; 
they were all armed with hammers, with which they 
began to pound with great diHgence and noise as soon 
as they saw the carriage. The chaise passed between 
these batteries, the stones flying on all sides. 

'' How are you, Jem ? How are you, Phil ? " said 
Larry. ** But hold your hand, can't ye, while I stop 
and get the stones out of the horses' feet. So you're 
making up the rent, are you, for St. Dennis ? " 

** Whoosh ! " said one of the pounders, coming close 
to the postilion, and pointing his thumb back towards 
the chaise. ** Who have you in it ? " 

" Oh, you need not scruple, he's a very honest man ; 
he's only a man from North Wales, one Mr. Evans, an 
innocent jantleman that's sent over to travel up and down 
the country to find is there any copper-mines in it." 

" How do you know, Larry ? " 

" Because I know very well from one that was tould, 
and I seen him tax the man of the * King's Head ' with a 
copper half-crown at first sight, which was only lead to 
look at, you'd think, to them that was not skilful in 
copper. So lend me a knife till I cut a linchpin out of 
the hedge, for this one won't go far." 

Whilst Larry was making the linchpin, all scruple 
being removed, his question about St. Dennis and the 
rent was answered. 

" Ay, it's the rint, sure enough, we're pounding out 
for him ; for he sent the driver round last night was 
eight days, to warn us Old Nick would be down a' 
Monday to take a sweep among us ; and there's only 



LARRY THE POSTILION. I91 

six dear days, Saturday night, before the assizes, sure ; 
so we must see and get it finished anyway to clear the 
presentment again' the swearing day, for he and Paddy 
Hart is the overseers themselves, and Paddy is to swear 
to it." 

'' St. Dennis, is it ? Then youVe one great comfort 
and security — that he won't be particular about the 
swearing, for since ever he had his head on his shoulders 
an oath never stuck in St. Dennis's throat more than 
in his own brother, Old Nick's." 

" His head upon his shoulders ! " repeated Lord 
Colambre. " Pray, did you ever hear that St. Dennis's 
head was off his shoulders ? " 

" It never was, plase your honour, to my knowledge." 

" Did you never, among your saints, hear of St. 
Dennis carrying his head in his hand ? " said Lord 
Colambre. 

** The rale saint ! " said the postilion, suddenly 
changing his tone and looking shocked. ** Oh, don't 
be talking that way of the saints, plase your honour." 

" Then of what St. Dennis were you talking just now ? 
Whom do you mean by St. Dennis, and whom do you 
call Old Nick ? " 

** Old Nick," answered the postilion, coming close 
to the side of the carriage and whispering — '' Old Nick, 
plase your honour, is our nickname for one Nicholas 
Garraghty, Esq., of College Green, Dublin ; and St. 
Dennis is his brother Dennis, who is Old Nick's 
brother in all things, and would fain be a saint, only he's 
a sinner. He lives just by here in the country, under- 
agent to Lord Clonbrony, as Old Nick is upper-agent. 
It's only a joke among the people, that are not fond of 
them at all. Lord Clonbrony himself is a very good 



192 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

jantleman, if he was not an absentee, resident in London, 
leaving us and everything to the Ukes of them." 

Lord Colambre Hstened with all possible composure 
and attention ; but the postilion having now made his 
linchpin of wood and fixed himself, he mounted his bar, 
and drove on, saying to Lord Colambre as he looked at the 
roadmakers : 

** Poor craturs ! They couldn't keep their cattle 
out of pound or themselves out of jail but by making 
this road." 

** Is roadmaking then a very profitable business ? 
Have roadmakers higher wages than other men in this 
part of the country ? " 

*' It is, and it is not. They have and they have not, 
plase your honour." 

** I don't understand you ! " 

" No, beca-ase you're an Englishman — that is, a 
Welshman — I beg your honour's pardon. But I'll tell 
you how that is, and I'll go slow over these broken stones, 
for I can't go fast. It is where there's no jantleman over 
these under-agents, as here, they do as they plase ; and 
when they have set the land, they get rasonable from 
the head landlords, to poor cratures at a rack-rent, 
that they can't live and pay the rent, they say " 

" Who says ? " 

" Them under-agents that have no conscience at all. 
Not all, but some, like Dennis, says, says he, * I'll get 
you a road to make up the rent ' ; that is, plase your 
honour, the agent gets them a presentment for so many 
perches of road from the grand jury at twice the price 
that would make the road. And tenants are by this 
means, as they take the road by contract at the price 
given by the county, able to pay all they get by the job, 



LARRY THE POSTILION. I93 

over and above potatoes and salt, back again to the agent, 
for the arrear on the land. Do I make your honour 
sensible ? " 

** You make me much more sensible than I ever was 
before/' said Lord Colambre ; ** but is not this cheating 
the county ? '' 

" Well, and suppose," replied Larry, *' is it not all for 
my good, and yours too, plase your honour ? " said 
Larry, looking very shrewdly. 

" My good ! '' said Lord Colambre, startled. " What 
have I to do with it ? '' 

" Haven't you to do with the roads as well as me when 
you're travelling upon them, plase your honour ? And 
sure, they'd never be got made at all if they weren't 
made this way ; and it's the best way in the wide world, 
and the finest roads we have. And when the rale jantle- 
men's resident in the country, there's no jobbing can be, 
because they're then the leading men on the grand 
jury ; and these journeymen jantlemen are then kept 
in order, and all's right." 

Lord Colambre was much surprised at Larry's know- 
ledge of the manner in which county business is managed, 
as well as by his shrewd good sense. He did not know 
that this is not uncommon in his rank of life in Ireland. 

Whilst Larry was speaking Lord Colambre was looking 
from side to side at the desolation of the prospect. 

** So this is Lord Clonbrony's estate, is it ? " 

" Ay, all you see, and as far and farther than you can 
see. My Lord Clonbrony wrote and ordered plantations 
here some time back, and enough was paid to labourers 
for ditching and planting. And what next ? Why, 
what did the under-agent do, but let the goats in through 
gaps, left o' purpose, to bark the trees, and then the 



194 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

trees was all banished. And next the cattle was let in 
trespassing, and winked at, till the land was all poached ; 
and then the land was waste, and cried down ; and 
Saint Dennis wrote up to Dublin to Old Nick, and he 
over to the landlord, how none would take it, or bid 
anything at all for it. So then it fell to him a cheap 
bargain. Oh, the tricks of them ! Who knows 'em if 
I don't ? " 

Presently Lord Colambre's attention was roused again 
by seeing a man running as if for his life across a bog, 
near the roadside. He leaped over the ditch, and was 
upon the road in an instant. He seemed startled at first 
at the sight of the carriage ; but looking at the postilion, 
Larry nodded ; and he smiled and said : 

" All's safe ! " 

" Pray, my good friend, may I ask what that is you 
have on your shoulder ? " said Lord Colambre. 

** Plase your honour, it is only a private still, which I've 
just caught out yonder in the bog ; and I'm carrying it 
in with all speed to the ganger, to make a discovery, that 
the jantleman may benefit by the reward. I expect 
he'll make me a compliment." 

" Get up behind, and I'll give you a lift," said the 
postilion. 

" Thank you kindly, but better my legs ! " said the 
man ; and turning down a lane, off he ran again as fast as 
possible. 

** Except he'll make me a compliment ! " repeated Lord 
Colambre, " to make a discovery." 

" Ay, plase your honour ; for the law is," said Larry, 
" that if an unlawful still — that is, a still without licence 
for whiskey — is found, half the benefit of the fine that's 
put upon the parish goes to him that made the discovery. 



LARRY THE POSTILION. IQS 

That's what that man is after, for he's an in- 
former." 

*' I should not have thought, from what I see of you," 
said Lord Colambre, smihng, ** that you, Larry, would 
have offered an informer a lift." 

" Oh, plase your honour," said Larry, smiling archly, 
" would not I give the laws a lift when in my power ? " 

Scarcely had he uttered these words, and scarcely 
was the informer out of sight, when, across the same bog 
and over the ditch, comes another man — a half kind 
of gentleman, with a red silk handkerchief about his 
neck, and a silver-handled whip in his hand. 

" Did you see any man pass the road, friend ? " said 
he to the postilion. 

" Oh ! who would I see, qr why would I tell ? " 
replied Larry in sulky tone. 

** Come, come, be smart ! " said the man with the 
silver whip, offering to put half-a-crown into the posti- 
lion's hand ; '* point me which way he took." 

" I'll have none o' your silver !— don't touch me with 
it ! " said Larry. ** But if you'll take my advice, you'll 
strike across back, and follow the fields, out to Killogene- 
sawee." 

The exciseman set out again immediately in an opposite 
direction to that which the man who carried the still 
had taken. Lord Colambre now perceived that the 
pretended informer had been running off to conceal 
a still of his own. 

" The ganger, plase your honour," said Larry, looking 
back at Lord Colambre, '* the ganger is a still-hunting 1 " 

" And >ou put him on a wrong scent ! " said Lord 
Colambre. 

" Sure I told him no lie ; I only said, * If you'll take 



196 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

my advice.' And why was he such a fool as to take my 
advice when I wouldn't take his fee ? " 

** So this is the way, Larry, you give a Hft to the laws ! " 

" If the laws would give a lift to me, plase your honour, 
maybe Td do as much by them. But it's only these 
revenue laws I mean ; for I never to my knowledge 
broke another commandment. It's what no honest poor 
man among his neighbours would scruple to take — a 
glass of potsheen." 

** A glass of what, in the name of heaven ? " said Lord 
Colambre. 

" Potsheen, plase your honour ; beca-ase it's the little 
whiskey that's made in the private still or pot ; and sheen y 
because it's a fond word for whatsoever we'd like, and 
for what we have little of and would make much of. 
After taking the glass of it, no man could go and inform 
to ruin the craturs ; for they all shelter on that estate 
under favour of them that go shares and make rent of 'em ; 
but I'd never inform again' 'em. And, after all, if the 
truth was known, and Lord Clonbrony should be in- 
formed against, and presented, for it is his neglect is the 
bottom of the nuisance " 

" I find all the blame is thrown upon this poor Lord 
Clonbrony," said Lord Colambre. 

" Beca-ase he is absent," said Larry. " It would not 
be so was he prisint. But your honour was talking to 
me about the laws. Your honour's a stranger in this 
country, and astray about them things. Sure, why 
would I mind the laws about whiskey more than the 
quality or the jidge on the bench ? " 

" What do you mean ? " 

" Why, was I not prisint in the court-house myself, 
when the jidge was on the bench judging a still, and 



LARRY THE POSTILION. I97 

across the court came in one with a sly jug of potsheen 
for the jidge himself, who prefarred it, when the right 
thing, to claret ; and when I seen that, by the laws ! 
a man might talk himself dumb to me after again' pot- 
sheen, or in favour of the revenue or revenue officers. 
And there they may go on with their gangers, and their 
surveyors, and their supervisors, and their watching 
officers, and their coursing officers, setting 'em one after 
another, or one over the head of another, or what way 
they will ; we can baffle and laugh at 'em. Didn't I 
know, next door to our inn, last year, ten watching 
officers set upon one distiller, and he was too cunning 
for them ; and it will always be so while ever the people 
think it no sin. No ; till then not all their dockets and 
permits signify a rush or a turf. And the gauging-rod 
even, who fears it ? They may spare that rod, for it 
will never mend the child." 

How much longer Larry's dissertation on the distillery 
laws would have continued had not his ideas been inter- 
rupted, we cannot guess ; but he saw he was coming to 
a town, and he gathered up the reins and pHed the whip, 
ambitious to make a figure in the eyes of its inhabitants. 
This town consisted of one row of miserable huts, 
sunk beneath the side of the road, the mud walls crooked 
in every direction ; some of them opening in wide cracks 
or zigzag fissures, from top to bottom, as if there had just 
been an earthquake. All the roofs were sunk in various 
places ; the thatch was off, or overgrown with grass. 
There were no chimneys, the smoke making its way 
through a hole in the roof, or rising in clouds from the 
top of the open door. Dunghills stood before the doors, 
and green standing puddles ; and squalid children, with 
scarcely rags to cover them, gazing at the carriage. 



198 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" Nugent's town," said the postilion ; " once a snug 
place when my Lady Clonbrony was at home to white- 
wash it, and the like." 

As they drove by, some men and women put their 
heads through the smoke out of the cabins ; pale women 
with long black or yellow locks ; men with countenances 
and figures bereft of hope and energy. 

" Wretched, wretched people ! " said Lord Colambre. 

" Then it's not their fault neither," said Larry ; " for 
my uncle's one of them ; and as thriving and hard a 
working man as could be in all Ireland he was afore he 
was tramped under foot, and his heart broke. I was at 
his funeral, this time last year ; and for it may the agent's 
own heart, if he has any, burn " 

Lord Colambre interrupted this denunciation by 
touching Larry's shoulder, and asking some question, 
which, as Larry did not distinctly comprehend, he pulled 
up the reins, and the vehicle suddenly stopped. 

** I did not hear well, plase your honour." 

'' What are those people ? " said Lord Colambre, 
pointing to a man and woman, curious figures, who had 
come out of a cabin, the door of which the woman, who 
came out last, locked. She then carefully hid the key 
in the thatch, turned her back upon the man, and they 
walked away in diflPerent directions. The woman 
was bending under a huge bundle on her back, covered 
by a yellow petticoat turned over her shoulders ; from 
the top of this bundle the head of an infant appeared ; 
a little boy, almost naked, followed her with a kettle, 
and two girls one of whom could but just walk, held her 
hand and clung to her ragged petticoat ; forming, all 
together, a complete group of beggars. The woman 
stopped and looked after the man. 



LARRY THE POSTILION? 199 

The man was a Spanish-looking figure, with grey hair ; 
a wallet hung at the end of a stick over one shoulder, 
a reaping-hook in the other hand. He walked off stoutly, 
without ever casting a look behind him. 

'' A kind harvest to you, John Dolan," cried the 
postilion, '' and success to ye, Winny, with the quaUty. 
There's a luck-penny for the child to begin with," 
added he, throwing the child a penny. " Your honour, 
they're only poor craturs going up the country to beg, 
while the man goes over to reap the harvest in England. 
Nor this would not be neither if the lord was in it to give 
'em employ. That man, now, was a good and a wiUing 
slave in his day. I mind him working with myself in the 
shrubberies at Clonbrony Castle when I was a boy ; 
but I'll not be detaining your honour, now the road's 

better." 

The postilion drove on at a good rate for some time, 
till he came to a piece of the road freshly covered with 
broken stones, over which he was obUged to travel 

slowly. 

They overtook a string of cars on which were piled up 
high, beds, tables, chairs, trunks, boxes, band-boxes. 

With a '' God speed you " to the carman, Larry was 
driving off, but the carman called to him, and pointing 
to a house at the corner of which, on a high pole, was 
swinging an iron sign of three horse-shoes set in a crooked 
frame, and at the window hung an empty bottle, pro- 
claiming whiskey within. 

'' Well I don't care if I do," said Larry ; " for I've 
no other comfort left me in life now. I beg your honour's 
pardon, sir, for a minute," added he, throwing the reins 
into the carriage to Lord Colambre, as he leapt down- 
all remonstrance and power of lungs to reclaim him, vain. 



200 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

He darted into the whiskey-house with the carman, 
reappeared before Lord Colambre could accompHsh 
getting out, remounted his seat, and taking the reins. 

** I thank your honour," said he, '* and FlI bring you 
into Clonbrony before its pitch-dark yet, though it's 
nightfall, and that's four good miles ; but * a spur in the 
head is worth two in the heel.' " 

Larry, to demonstrate the truth of his favourite axiom, 
drove off at such a furious rate over great stones left 
in the middle of the road by carmen, who had been driving 
in the gudgeons of their axle-trees to hinder them from 
lacing, that Lord Colambre thought Hfe and limb in 
imminent danger ; and feeling that at all events the 
jolting and bumping was past endurance, he had re- 
course to Larry's shoulder, and shook and pulled, and 
called to him to go slower, but in vain. At last the wheel 
struck full against a heap of stones at a turn of the road, 
the wooden linch-pin came off, and the chaise turned 
over. Lord Colambre was a little bruised, but glad to 
escape without fractured bones. 

'' I beg your honour's pardon," said L^rry, completely 
sobered. " I'm as glad as the best pair of boots ever I see, 
to see your honour nothing the worse for it. It was the 
linch-pin and them barrows of loose stones, that ought 
to be fined anyway, if there was any justice in the 
country." 

'* The pole is broken ; how are we to get on ? " said 
Lord Colambre. 

*' Murder ! murder ! — and no smith nearer than 
Clonbrony ; nor rope even. It's a folly to talk ; we 
can't get to Clonbrony, nor stir a step backward or for- 
ward the night." 

" What, then ! do you mean to leave me all night in 



THE WIDOW O'nEIL. 201 



the middle of the road ? '' cried Lord Colambre, quite 
exasperated. 

** Is it me ? plase your honour. I would not use 
any jantleman so ill, barring I could do no other," replied 
the postilion, coolly. Then leaping across the ditch, 
or, as he called it, the gripe of the ditch, he scrambled up, 
and while he was scrambUng, said, ** If your honour will 
lend me your hand till I pull you up the back of the ditch, 
the horses will stand while we go. FU find you as pretty 
a lodging for the night, with a widow of a brother of my 
shister's husband that was, as ever you slept in your life ; 
for Old Nick or St. Dennis has not found 'em out yet ; 
and your honour will be, no compare, snugger than at the 
inn at Clonbrony, which has no roof, the devil a stick. 
But where will I get your honour's hand, for it's coming 
on so dark I can't see rightly. There, you're up now 
safe. Yonder candle's the house." 

" Go and ask whether they can give us a night's 
lodging." 

** Is it ask ? When I see the light ! Sure they'd 
be proud to give the traveller all the beds in the house, 
let alone one. Take care of the potato furrows, that's 
all, and follow me straight. I'll go on to meet the dog, 
who knows me, and might be strange to your honour." 



THE WIDOW O'NEIL. 

" Kindly welcome," were the first words Lord 
Colambre heard when he approached the cottage ; and 
" kindly welcome " was in the sound of the voice and in 
the countenance of the old woman who came out, shading 



202 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

her rush-candle from the wind, and holding it so as to 
light the path. When he entered the cottage, he saw 
a cheerful fire arid a neat pretty young woman making it 
blaze ; she put her spinning-wheel out of the way, set 
a stool by the fire for the stranger, and repeating in a very 
low tone of voice, " Kindly welcome, sir," retired. 

*' Put down some eggs, dear ; there's plenty in the 
bowl,'' said the old woman, calling to her ; ** I'll do the 
bacon. Was not we lucky to be up ? The boy's gone 
to bed, but waken him," said she, turning to the postilion, 
** and he'll help you with the chay, and put your horses 
in the bier for the night." 

No ; Larry chose to go on to Clonbrony with the 
horses, that he might get the chaise mended betimes for 
his honour. The table was set ; clean trenchers, hot 
potatoes, milk, eggs, bacon, and ** kindly welcome to all." 

" Set the salt, dear ; and the butter, love. Where's 
your head, Grace, dear ? " 

** Grace ! " repeated Lord Colambre, looking up ; 
and, to apologise for his involuntary exclamation, he 
added, " Is Grace a common name in Ireland ? " 

** I can't say, plase your honour, but it was given her 
by Lady Clonbrony, from a niece of her own, God bless 
her ; and a very kind lady she was to us and to all when 
she was living in it ; but those times are gone past," 
said the old woman with a sigh. The young woman 
sighed too ; and sitting down by the fire, began to count 
the notches in a little bit of stick which she held in her 
hand, and after she had counted them, sighed again. 

** But don't be sighing, Grace, now," said the old 
woman ; " sighs is bad sauce for the traveller's supper ; 
and we won't be troubling him with more," added she, 
turning to Lord Colambre, with a smile. 



THE WIDOW o'nEIL, 203 

" Is your egg done to your liking ? " 
'* Perfectly, thank you/' 

'' Then I wish it was a chicken, for your sake, which 
it should have been, and roast too, had we time. I wish 
I could see you eat another egg." 

*' No more, thank you, my good lady ; I never ate 
a better supper, nor received a more hospitable welcome.*' 

** Oh, the welcome is all we have to offer.'' 

** May I ask what that is ? " said Lord Colambre, 
looking at the notched stick which the young woman 
held in her hand, and on which her eyes were still fixed. 

" It's a tally, plase your honour. Oh, you're a foreigner. 
It's the way the labourers keep the account of the days' 
work with the overseer, the bailiff ; a notch for every day 
the bailiff makes on his stick, and the labourer the hke 
on his stick, to tally ; and when we come to make up the 
account, it's by the notches we go. And there's been a 
mistake, and is a dispute here between our boy and the 
overseer ; and she was counting the boy's tally, that's in 
bed — tired, for in troth he's overworked." 

** Would you want anything more from me, mother ? " 
said the girl, rising and turning her head away. 

** No child ; get away, for your heart's full." 

She went instantly. 

** Is the boy her brother ? " said Lord Colambre. 

** No ; he's her bachelor," said the old woman, lower- 
ing her voice. 

" Her bachelor ? " 

" That is, her sweetheart ; for she is not my daughter, 
though you heard her call me mother. The boy's my son ; 
but I am afeard they must give it up ; for they're too 
poor, and the times is hard, and the agents harder than 
the times. There's two of them, the under and the 



204 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

upper ; and they grind the substance of one between 
them, and then blow one away Hke chaff ; but we'll 
not be talking of that to spoil your honour's night's 
rest. The room is ready, and here's the rushlight." 

She showed him into a very small but neat room. 

** What a comfortable-looking bed ! " said Lord 
Colambre. 

** Ah, these red check curtains," said she, letting them 
down ; ** these have lasted well. They were give me 
by a good friend, now far away over the seas, my Lady 
Clonbrony ; and made by the prettiest hands ever you 
see, her niece's. Miss Grace Nugent's, and she a little 
child that time ; sweet love ! All gone ! " 

The old woman wiped a tear from her eye, and Lord 
Colambre did what he could to appear indifferent. She 
set down the candle and left the room. Lord Colambre 
went to bed, but he lay awake. 

The kettle was on the fire, tea-things set, everything 
prepared for her guest by the hospitable hostess, who, 
thinking the gentleman would take tea to his breakfast, 
had sent off a gassoon by the first light to Clonbrony for an 
ounce of tea, a quarter of sugar, and a loaf of white bread ; 
and there was on the little table good cream, milk, butter^ 
eggs — all the promise of an excellent breakfast. It was 
a fresh morning, and there was a pleasant fire on the neatly 
swept heart. The old woman was sitting in her chimney- 
corner, behind a little screen of white- washed wall, 
built out into the room for the purpose of keeping those 
who sat by the fire from the blast of the door. There 
was a loop-hole in this wall, to let the light in, just at the 
height of a person's head who was sitting near the 
chimney. The rays of the morning sun now came 
through it, shining across the face of the old woman 



THE WIDOW o'NEIL. 205 

as she sat knitting. Lord Colambre thought he had 
seldom seen a more agreeable countenance, intelligent 
eyes, benevolent smile, a natural expression of cheerful- 
ness subdued by age and misfortune. 

** A good-morrow to you kindly, sir, and I hope you 
got the night well ? A fine day for us this holiday 
morning ; my Grace is gone to early prayers, so your 
honour will be content with an old woman to make your 
tea. Oh, let me put in plenty of tea, or it will never be 
good ; and if your honour takes stirabout, an old hand 
will engage to make that to your liking, anyway ; for, 
by great happiness, we have what will just answer for you 
of the nicest meal the miller made my Grace a compliment 
of last time she went to the mill." 

Lord Colambre observed that this miller had good 
taste, and his lordship paid some compHment to Grace's 
beauty, which the old woman received with a smile, but 
turned off the conversation. 

** Then/' said she, looking out of the window, ** is 
not that there a nice little garden the boy dug for her 
and me, at his breakfast and dinner hours ? Ah ! he's 
a good boy, and a good warrant to work ; and the good 
son desarves the good wife, and it's he that will make 
the good husband ; and with my good-will he, and no 
other, shall get her, and with her good-will the same ; 
and I bid 'em keep up their heart and hope the best, 
for there's no use in fearing the worst till it comes." 

Lord Colambre wished very much to know the worst. 

** If you would not think a stranger impertinent for 
asking," said he, ** and if it would not be painful to you 
to explain ? " 

** Oh, impertinent, your honour ! It's very kind ; 
and sure none's a stranger to one's heart, that feels for 



206 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

one. And for myself, I can talk of my troubles without 
thinking of them. So Til tell you all. If the worst 
comes to the worst, we must quit and give up this little 
snug place, and house and farm, and all, to the agent ; 
which would be hard on us, and me a widow, when my 
husband did all that is done to the land. And if your 
honour was a judge, you could see, if you stepped out, 
there has been a deal done, and built the house, and all ; 
but it plased Heaven to take him. Well, he was too good 
for this world, and Tm satisfied. Fm not saying a word 
again' that. I trust we shall meet in heaven, and be 
happy, surely. And meantime here's my boy, that 
will make me as happy as ever widow was on earth — if 
the agent will let him. And I can't think the agent, 
though they that know him best call him Old Nick, 
would be so wicked as to take from us that which he 
never gave us. The good lord himself granted us the 
lase ; the life's dropped, and the years is out ; but we 
had a promise of renewal in writing from the landlord, 
God bless him ! If he was not away, he'd be a good 
gentleman and we'd be happy and safe." 

" But if you have a promise in writing of a renewal, 
surely you are safe, whether your landlord is absent or 
present." 

" Ah, no ! that makes a great differ, when there's 
no eye or hand over the agent. I would not wish to 
speak or think ill of him or any man ; but was he an 
angel, he could not know to do the tenantry justice, 
the way he is living always in Dublin, and coming down 
to the country only the receiving days, to make a sweep 
among us, and gather up the rents in a hurry, and he in 
such haste back to town — can just stay to count over 
our money and give the receipts. Happy for us if we 



THE WIDOW O NEIL. 207 

get that same ; but can't expect he should have time to 
see or hear us, or mind our improvements, any more than 
Usten to our complaints. Oh ! there's great excuse 
for the gentleman, if that was any comfort for us," added 
she, smiling. 

** But if he does nor live amongst you himself, has not 
he some under-agent who lives in the country ? " said 
Lord Colambre. 

" He has so.'' 

'' And he should know your concerns ; does he mind 
them ? " 

** He should know ; he should know better ; but as 
to minding our concerns, your honour knows," con- 
tinued she, smiling again, ** every one in this world 
must mind their own concerns ; and it would be a good 
world if it was even so. There's a great deal in all things 
that don't appear at first sight. Mr. Dennis wanted 
Grace for a wife for his bailiff, but she would not have 
him ; and Mr. Dennis was very sweet to her himself ; 
but Grace is rather high with him, as proper, and he has 
a grudge again' us ever since. Yet indeed, there," she 
added after another pause, '' as you say, I think we are 
safe ; for we have that memorandum in writing with a 
pencil given under his own hand, on the back of the lase 
to me, by the same token when my good lord had his foot 
on the step of the coach, going away ; and I'll never forget 
the smile of her that got that good turn done for me, 
Miss Grace. And just when she was going to England 
and London, and, young as she was, to have the thought 
to stop and turn to the likes of me ! Oh, then, if you 
could see her and know her as I did ! That was the 
comforting angel upon earth ; look, and voice, and 
heart, and all ! Oh, that she was here present, this 



208 



MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



minute ! But did you scald yourself ? " said the widow 
to Lord Colambre. *' Sure, you must have scalded 
yourself ; for you poured the kettle straight over your 
hand, and it boiling ! Oh, dear ! to think of so young 
a gentleman's hand shaking so Uke my own." 

Luckily, to prevent her pursuing her observations 
from the hand to the face, which might have betrayed 
more than Lord Colambre wished she should know, her 
own Grace came in at this instant. 

" There it's for you safe, mother dear — the lase ! " said 
Grace, throwing a packet into her lap. The old woman 
lifted up her hands to heaven, with the lease between 
thena — " Thanks be to Heaven ! " Grace passed on, 
and sunk down on the first seat she could reach. Her 
face was flushed, and she looked much fatigued as she 
loosened the strings of her bonnet and cloak. " Then, 
I'm tired ! " But, recollecting herself, she rose and 
saluted the gentleman. 

" What tired ye, dear ? " 

" Why, after prayers we had to go — for the agent was 
not at prayers, nor at home for us when we called — ^we 
had to go all the way up to the castle ; and there, by 
great good luck, we found Mr. Nick Garraghty himself, 
come from Dublin, and the lase in his hands ; and he 
sealed it up that way, and handed it to me very civil. 
I never saw him so good — though he offered me a glass 
of spirits, which was not manners to a decent young 
woman in a morning, as Brian noticed after. Brian 
would not take any either, nor never does. We met Mr. 
Dennis and the driver, coming home ; and he says the 
rent must be paid to-morrow, or, instead of renewing, 
he'll seize and sell all. Mother, dear, I would have 
dropped with the walk but for Brian's arm." 



THE WIDOW O'NEIL. • 209 

" It's a wonder, dear, what makes you so weak, that 
used to be so strong.'' 

" But if we can sell the cow for anything at all to Mr. 
Dennis, since his eye is set upon her, better let him have 
her, mother dear ; and that and my yarn, which Mrs. 
Garraghty says she'll allow me for, will make up the rent ; 
and Brian need not talk of America. But it must be in 
golden guineas — the agent will take the rent no other way 
— and you won't get a guinea for less than five shillings. 
Well, even so, it's easy selling my new gown to one that 
covets it, and that will give me in exchange the price of 
the gold ; or, suppose that would not do, add this cloak — 
it's handsome, and I know a friend would be glad to take 
it, and I'd part it as ready as look at it. Anything at all, 
sure, rather than that he should be forced to talk of 
emigrating ; or — oh, worse again — 'listing for the 
bounty, to save us from the cant or the jail, by going to 
the hospital, or his grave, maybe — Oh, mother ! " 

'' Oh, child ! This is what makes you weak — fretting. 
Don't be that way. Sure, here's the lase, and that's 
good comfort ; and the soldiers will be gone out of 
Clonbrony to-morrow, and then that's off your mind. 
And as to America, it's only talk ; I won't let him, he's 
dutiful ; and would sooner sell my dresser, and down to 
my bed, dear, than see you sell anything of yours, love. 
Promise me you won't. Why didn't Brian come home 
all the way with you, Grace } " 

** He would have seen me home," said Grace, " only 
that he went up a piece of the mountain for some stones 
or ore for the gentleman, for he had the manners to think 
of him this morning, though, shame for me, I had not 
when I come in, or I would not have told you all this 
and he by. See, there he is, mother." 

R 



210 , MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Brian came in very hot, out of breath, with his hat 
full of stones. " Good-morrow to your honour. I 
was in bed last night, and sorry they did not call me up 
to be of sarvice. Larry was telling us this morning 
your honour's from Wales, and looking for mines in 
Ireland, and I heard talk that there was one on our 
mountain, maybe, you'd be curious to see, and so I 
brought the best I could ; but I'm no judge." 

** Nor I neither," thought Lord Colambre ; but he 
thanked the young man, and, determined to avail himself 
of Larry's misconception of false report, examined the 
stones very gravely, and said, ** This promises well. 
Lapis caliminaris, schist, plum-pudding stone, rhom- 
boidal, crystal, blend, garrawachy," and all the strange 
names he could think of, jumbling them together at a 
venture. 

" The lase, is it ? " cried the young man, with joy 
sparkling in his eyes, as his mother held up the packet. 
" Then all's safe ! And he's an honest man, and shame 
on me that could suspect he meant us wrong. Lend me 
the papers." 

He cracked the seals, and taking off the cover — " It's 
the lase, sure enough. Shame on me ! But stay, where's 
the memorandum ? " 

'' It's there, sure," said his mother, " where my lord's 
pencil writ it. I don't read. Grace, dear, look." 

The young man put it into her hands, and stood 
without power to utter a syllable. 

'' It's not here ! It's gone ! No sign of it." 

'' Gracious heaven ! that can't be," said the old woman, 
putting on her spectacles ; *' let me see. I remember 
the very spot." 

** It's taken away ; it's rubbed clean out ! Oh, wasn't 



THE WIDOW o'nEIL. 211 

I fool. But who could have thought he'd be the villain ?" 

The young man seemed neither to see nor hear, but 
to be absorbed in thought. 

Grace, with her eyes fixed upon him, grew as pale as 
death—" Hell go— he's gone." 

'* She's gone ! " cried Lord Colambre ; and the mother 
just caught her in her arms as she was falling. 

** The chaise is ready, plase your honour," said Larry, 
coming into the room. *' Death ! what's here ? " 

'* Air ! — ^she's coming to," said the young man. 
" Take a drop of water, my own Grace." 

*' Young man, I promise you," cried Lord Colambre, 
speaking in the tone of a master, striking the young man's 
shoulder, who was kneeling at Grace's feet ; but recol- 
lecting and restraining himself, he added in a quiet voice 
— ** I promise you I shall never forget the hospitality 
I have received in this house, and I am sorry to be obliged 
to leave you in distress." 

These words uttered with difficulty, he hurried out 
of the house and into his carriage. " Go back to them," 
said he to the postiHon ; " go back, and ask whether, 
if I should stay a day or two longer in this country, 
they would let me return at night and lodge with them. 
And here, man — ^stay, take this," putting money into his 
hands, " for the good woman of the house." 

The postilion went in and returned. 

" She won't at all ; I knew she would not." 

" Well, I am obliged to her for the night's lodging she 
gave me ; I have no right to expect more." 

What is it ? ' — sure she bid me tell you — ' and 
welcome to the lodging ; for,' said she, ' he is a kind- 
hearted gentleman.' But here's the money. It's that 
I was telling you she would not have at all." 



^l^ MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" Thank you. Now, my good friend, Larry, drive 
me to Clonbrony, and do not say another word, for I'm 
not in a talking humour." 



AT CLONBRONY. 

Larry nodded, mounted, and drove to Clonbrony. 
Clonbrony was now a melancholy scene. The houses, 
which had been built in a better style of architecture 
than usual, were in a ruinous condition ; no glass in the 
windows, and many of the roofs without slates. For 
the stillness of the place Lord Colambre in some measure 
accounted by considering that it was holiday ; therefore, 
of course, all the shops were shut up and all the people 
at prayers. He alighted at the inn, which completely 
answered Larry's representation of it. Nobody was 
to be seen but a drunken waiter, who, as well as he could 
articulate, informed Lord Colambre that ** his mistress 
was in her bed since Thursday was a week ; the ostler 
at the wash-woman's, and the cook at second prayers." 

Lord Colambre walked to the church, but the church 
gate was locked and broken — a calf, two pigs, and an ass 
in the churchyard ; and several boys (with more of skin 
apparent than clothes) were playing at pitch-and-toss 
upon a tombstone, which, upon nearer observation, he 
saw was the monument of his own family. One of the 
boys came to the gate and told Lord Colambre ** there was 
no use in going into the church, becaase there was no 
church there, nor had not been this twelvemonth, becaase 
there was no curate, and the parson was away always. 



AT CLONBRONY. 21 3 

since the lord was at home— that is, was not at home- 
he nor the family." 

Lord Colambre returned to the inn, where, atter 
waiting a considerable time, he gave up the point. He 
could not get any dinner, and in the evening he walked 
out again into the town. He found several alehouses, 
however, open, which were full of people ; all of them 
as busy and as noisy as possible. He observed that the 
mterest was created by an advertisement of several 
farms on the Clonbrony estate to be set by Nicholas 
Garraghty, Esq. He could not help smiling at his bemg 
witness incognito to various schemes for outwittmg the 
agents and defrauding the landlord ; but on a sudden 
the scene was changed. A boy ran in, crying out that 
" St. Dennis was riding down the hill into the town ; 
and if you wouldn't have the licence," said the boy, " take 
care of yourself, Brannagan." " If you wouldn't have the 
licence," Lord Colambre perceived by what followed 
meant " If you have not a Ucence." Brannagan 
immediately snatched an untasted glass of whisky from 
a customer's lips (who cried, " Murder ! "), gave it and 
the bottle he held in his hand to his wife, who swallowed 
the spirits, and ran away with the bottle and glass into 
some back hole, whilst the bystanders laughed, saying, 
" Well thought of, Peggy ! " 

" Clear out, all of you, at the back-door, for the love 
of heaven, if you wouldn't be the ruin of me," said the 
man of the house, setting a ladder to the corner of the 
shop. " Phil, hoist me up the keg to the loft," added 
he, running up the ladder ; "and one of yees step up 
street, and give Rose M'Givney notice, for she's seUing 

too." 
The keg was hoisted up, the ladder removed, the shop 



214 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

cleared of all the customers, the shutters shut, the door 
barred, and the counter cleaned. 

** Lift your stones, sir, if you plase," said the wife as she 
rubbed the counter, ** and say nothing of what you seen 
at all ; but that you're a stranger and a traveller seeking 
a lodging, if you're questioned, or waiting to see Mr. 
Dennis. There's no smell of whiskey in it now, is there, 
sir ? " 

Lord Colambre could not flatter her so far as to say this ; 
he could only hope no one would perceive it. 

*' Oh, and if he would, the smell of whiskey was noth- 
ing," as the wife affirmed, " for it was everjrwhere 
in nature, and no proof again' anyone, good or bad." 

" Now, St. Dennis may come when he will, or Old 
Nick himself ! " So she tied up a blue handkerchief 
over her head, and had the toothache, " very bad." 

Lord Colambre turned to look for the man of the house. 

" He's safe in bed," said the wife. 

" In bed ! When ? " 

" Whilst you turned jrour head, while I was tying 
the handkerchief over my face. Within the room — 
look, he is snug." 

And there he was in bed, certainly, and his clothes 
on the chest. 

A knock, a loud knock, at the door. 

" St. Dennis himself ! Stay till I unbar the door," 
said the woman ; and making a great difficulty, she 
let him in, groaning, and saying — 

'' We was all done up for the night, plase your honour; 
and myself with the toothache, very bad ; and the lodger, 
that's going to take an egg only before he'd go into his 
bed. My man's in it, and asleep long ago." 

With a magisterial air, though with a look of blank 



AT CLONBRONY, 21 5 

disappointment, Mr. Dennis Garragthy walked on, 
looked into the room, saw the good man of the house 
asleep, heard him snore, and then returning, asked Lord 
Colambre *' who he was, and what brought him there ? " 

Our hero said he was from England, and a traveller ; 
and now, bolder grown as a geologist, he talked of his 
specimens, and his hopes of finding a mine in the neigh- 
bouring mountains ; then adopting as well as he could 
the servile tone and abject manner in which he found 
Mr. Dennis was to be addressed, ** he hoped he might 
get encouragement from the gentleman at the head of 
the estate." 

" To bore, is it ? Well, don't bore me about it. I 
can't give you any answer now, my good friend ; Fm 
engaged." 

Out he strutted. " Stick to him up the town, if you 
have a mind to get your answer," whispered the woman. 
Lord Colambre followed, for he wished to see the end 
of this scene. 

** Well, sir, what are you following and sticking to me 
like my shadow for ? " said Mr. Dennis, turning suddenly 
upon Lord Colambre. 

His lordship bowed low. " Waiting for my answer sir, 
when you are at leisure. Or may I call upon you to- 
morrow ? " 

" You seem to be a civil kind of fellow ; but as to 
boring, I don't know ; if you will undertake it at your 
own expense. I daresay there may be minerals in 
the ground. Well, you may call at the castle to- 
morrow ; and when my brother has done with the 
tenantry, V\\ speak to him for you, and we'll consult 
together, and see what we think. It's too late to-night. 
In Ireland nobody speaks to a gentleman about business 



2l6 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

after dinner. Your servant, sir. Anybody can show 
you the way to the castle in the morning/' And pushing 
by his lordship, he called to a man on the other side 
of the street, who had obviously been waiting for him. 
He went under a gateway with this man, and gave him 
a bag of guineas. He then called for his horse, which 
was brought to him by a man whom Lord Colambre 
had heard declaring that he would bid for the land that 
was advertised ; whilst another, who had the same 
intentions, most respectfully held St. Dennis's stirrup, 
whilst he mounted without thanking either of these men. 
St. Dennis clapped spurs to his steed, and rode away. 
No thanks, indeed, were deserved, for the moment he was 
out of hearing both cursed him after the manner of their 
country. 

** Bad luck go with you, then ! And may you break 
your neck before you get home, if it was not for the lase 
I'm to get, and that's paid for ! " 

Lord Colambre followed the crowd into a public-house, 
where a new scene presented itself to his view. 

The man to whom St. Dennis gave the bag of gold was 
now seUing this very gold to the tenants who were to 
pay their rent next day at the castle. 

The agent would take nothing but gold. The same 
guineas were bought and sold several times over, to the 
great profit of the agent and loss of the poor tenants ; 
for as the rents were paid the guineas were resold to 
another set ; and the remittances made through bankers 
to the landlord, v/ho, as the poor man that explained 
the transaction to Lord Colambre expressed it, ** gained 
nothing by the business, bad or good, but the ill-will 
of the tenantry." 

The higgling for the price of the gold ; the time lost 



AN EVICTION. 217 

in disputing about the goodness of the notes among some 
poor tenants who could not read or write, and who 
were at the mercy of the man with the bag in his hand ; 
the vexation, the useless harassing of all, who were 
obliged to submit ultimately, Lord Colambre saw ; and 
all this time he endured the smell of tobacco and whiskey, 
and the sound of various brogues, the din of men wrangl- 
ing, brawling, threatening, whining, drawling, cajoling, 
cursing, and every variety of wretchedness. 

" And is this my father's town of Clonbrony ? " 
thought Lord Colambre. ** Is this Ireland ? No, it is 
not Ireland. Let me not, like most of those who forsake 
their native country, traduce it. Let me not, even to 
my own mind, commit the injustice of taking a speck 
for the whole. What I have just seen is the picture 
only of that to which an Irish estate and Irish tenantry 
may be degraded in the absence of those whose duty and 
interest it is to reside in Ireland — to uphold justice by 
example and authority ; but who, neglecting this duty, 
commit power to bad hands and bad hearts — abandon 
their tenantry to oppression and their property to ruin." 



AN EVICTION. 

Early in the morning Brian went to the priest, to ask 
his reverence when it would be convenient to marry him ; 
and whilst he was gone Mr. Dennis Garraghty came to 
the cottage to receive the rent and possession. The rent 
was ready in gold, and counted into his hand. 

" No occasion for a receipt ; for a new lease is a receipt 
in full for everything.'' 



2l8 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" Very well, sir," said the widow ; " I know nothing 
of law. You know best — whatever you direct — for you 
are acting as a friend to us now. My son got the attorney 
to draw the pair of new lases yesterday, and here they are 
ready, all to signing." 

Mr. Dennis said his brother must settle that part of 
the business, and that they must carry them up to the 
castle ; ** but first give me the possession." 

Then, as he instructed her, she gave up the key of the 
door to him, and a bit of the thatch of the house ; and 
he raked out the fire, and said every living creature must 
go out. " It's only form of law," said he. 

" And must my lodger get up, and turn out, sir ? " 
said she. 

" He must turn out, to be sure ; not a living soul must 
be left in it, or it's no legal possession, properly. Who 
is your lodger ? " 

On Lord Colambre's appearing, Mr. Dennis showed 
some surprise, and said, ** I thought you were lodging 
at Brannagan's ; are not you the man who spoke to me 
at his house about the gold-mines ? " 

** No, sir ; he never lodged at Brannagan's," said the 
widow. 

" Yes, sir, I am the person who spoke to you about the 
gold-mines at Brannagan's ; but I did not like to lodge 



" Well, no matter where you liked to lodge ; you must 
walk out of this lodging now, if you please, my good 
friend." 

So Mr. Dennis pushed his lordship out by the 
shoulders, repeating, as the widow turned back, and 
looked with some surprise and alarm, '* Only for form's 
sake, only for form's sake ! " Then locking the door, 



AN EVICTION. 219 

took the key and put it into his pocket. The widow 
held out her hand for it : " The form's gone through 
now, sir ; is not it ? Be plased to let us in again." 

** When the new lease is signed Til give you possession 
again, but not till then, for that's the law. So make 
away with you to the castle ; and mind," added he, 
winking slyly, " mind you take sealing-money with you 
and something to buy gloves." 

" Oh, where will I find all that ? " said the widow. 

" I have it, mother ; don't fret," said Grace. " I have 
it_the price of— what I can want.* So let us go off 
to the castle without delay. Brian will meet us on the 
road, you know." 

They set off for Clonbrony Castle, Lord Colambre 
accompanying them. Brian met them on the road. 
'' Father Tom is ready, dear mother ; bring her in and 
he'll marry us. I'm not my own man till she's mine. 
Who knows what may happen ? " 

" Who knows .? That's true," said the widow. 

*' Better go to the castle first," said Grace. 

" And keep the priest waiting ! You can't use his 
reverence so," said Brian. 

So she let him lead her into the priest's house, and she 
did not make any of the awkward draggings back or 
ridiculous scenes of grimace sometimes exhibited on these 
occasions, but blushing rosy red, yet with more self- 
possession than could have been expected from her timid 
nature, she gave her hand to the man she loved, and 
listened with attentive devotion to the holy ceremony. 

*' Ah ! " thought Lord Colambre, whilst he congratu- 
lated the bride ; " shall I ever be as happy as those 
poor people are at this moment ? " He longed to make 

* What I can do without. 



220 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

them some little present, but all he could venture at this 
moment was to pay the priest's dues. 

The priest positively refused to take anything. 

*' They are the best couple in my parish," said he ; 
" and I'll take nothing, sir, from you, a stranger and 
my guest." 

** Nov^, come what will, I'm a match for it. No trouble 
can touch me," said Brian. 

" Oh, don't be bragging," said the widow. 

** Whatever trouble God sends he has given one 
now will help to bear it, and sure I may be thankful," 
said Grace. 

" Such good hearts must be happy — shall be happy," 
said Lord Colambre. 

'' Oh, you're very kind," said the widow, smiling ; 
" and I wouldn't doubt you, if you had the power. I 
hope, then, the agent will give you encouragement about 
them mines, that we may keep you among us." 

" I am determined to settle among you, warm-hearted, 
generous people," cried Lord Colambre ; ** whether the 
agent gives me encouragement or not," added he. 

It was a long walk to Clonbrony Castle ; the old 
woman, as she said herself, would not have been able 
to accomplish it, but for a lift given to her by a friendly 
carman whom they met on the road with an empty car. 



CLONBRONY CASTLE. ^21 



CLONBRONY CASTLE. 

Lord Colambre's attention was now engaged by the 
view of the castle and park of Clonbrony. He had not 
seen it since he was six years old. Some faint reminis- 
cence of his childhood made him feel or fancy that he 
knew the place. It was a fine castle with a spacious 
park ; but all about it, from the broken piers at the great 
entrance to the mossy gravel and loose steps at the hall 
door, had an air of desertion and melancholy. Walks 
overgrown, shubberies wild, plantations run up into bare 
poles, fine trees cut down and lying on the ground in lots 
to be sold. A hill that had been covered with an oak 
wood, where in his childhood our hero used to play, 
and which he called the black forest, was gone. Nothing 
was to be seen but the white stumps of the trees, for it 
had been freshly cut down to make up the last remit- 
tances. " And how it went when sold ! but no matter," 
said Finnucan. "It's all alike. It's the back way 
into the yard I'll take you, I suppose." 

" And such a yard ! But it's no matter," repeated 
Lord Colambre to himself. " It's all alike." 

In the kitchen a great dinner was being prepared for 
Mr. Garraghty's friends, who were to make merry with 
him when the business of the day was over. 

" Where's the keys of the cellar, till I get out the claret 
for after dinner," says one. " And the wine for the 
cook. Sure there's vension," cries another. " Venison 1 
That's the way my lord's deer goes," says a third, 
laughing. "Ay, sure; and very proper when he's 
not here to eat 'em." " Keep your nose out of the 



222 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

kitchen, young man, if you plase," said the agent's 
cook, shutting the door in Lord Colambre's face. 
*' There's the way to the office, if youVe money to pay — 
up the back stairs." 

** No ; up the grand staircase," said the footman, 
" because the office is damp for Mr. Garraghty, and it's 
not there he'll see anybody to-day, but in my lady's 
dressing-room." 

So up the grand staircase they went, and through the 
magnificent apartments, hung with pictures of great 
value, spoiling with damp. 

" Then, isn't it a pity to see them ! There's my lady, 
and all spoiling," said the widow. 

Lord Colambre stopped before a portrait of Miss 
Nugent. 

" Shamefully damaged ! " cried he. 

" Pass on, or let me pass, if you please," said one of 
the tenants, " and don't be stopping the doorway." 

" I have business more nor you with the agent," said 
the surveyor ; " where is he ? " 

" In the presence-chamber," replied another. "Where 
should the viceroy be but in the presence-chamber ? " 

There was a full levee, and fine smell of greatcoats. 
" Oh ! would you put your hats on the silk cushions ? '* 
said the widow, to some men in the doorway, who were 
throwing off their greasy hats on a damask sofa. 

" Why not ? Where else should we put them ? " 

" If the lady was in it, you wouldn't," said she, 
sighing. 

" No, to be sure, I wouldn't. Great news ! would 
I make no differ in the presence of Old Nick and my 
lady ? " said he, in Irish. " Have I no sense or manners, 
good woman, think ye ? " added he, as he shook the ink 



CLONBRONY CASTLE. 223 

out of the pen on the Wilton carpet, when he had finished 
signing his name to a paper on his knee. 

** You may wait long before you get to the speech of 
the great man," said another, who was working his way 
through numbers. 

They continued pushing forward till they came 
within sight of Mr. Nicholas Garraghty, seated in state. 
A worse countenance, or a more perfect picture of an 
insolent, petty tyrant in office, Lord Colambre had never 
beheld. 

We will not weary the reader with details of this 
levee. " It's all the same," as Lord Colambre repeated to 
himself on every fresh instance of roguery or oppression 
to which he was witness ; and having completely made 
up his mind on the subject, he sat quietly down in the 
background, waiting till the widow's turn should come, 
for he was now interested only to see how she would be 
treated. The room gradually thinned. Mr. Dennis 
Garraghty came in, and sat down at the table to help 
his brother count the heaps of gold. 

" Oh, Mr. Dennis, I'm glad to see you as kind as your 
promise — meeting me here," said the Widow O'Neil, 
walking up to him. ** I'm sure you'll speak a good 
word for me. Here's the lases. Who will I offer this 
to ? " said she, holding the glove-money and sealing- 
money, " for I'm strange and ashamed." 

" Oh, don't be ashamed ; there's no strangeness in 
bringing money or taking it," said Mr. Nicholas 
Garraghty, holding out his hand. " Is this the proper 
compliment ? 

" I hope so, sir ; your honour knows best." 

" Very well," slipping it into his private purse. " Now 
what's your business ? " 



224 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

'* The lases to sign — the rent's all paid up." 

** Leases ! Why, woman, is the possession given up ? " 

*' It was, plase your honour ; and Mr. Dennis has the 
key of our little place in his pocket/' 

*' Then I hope he'll keep it there. Your Httle place ! 
It's no longer yours ; I've promised it to the surveyor. 
You don't think I'm such a fool as to renew to you at 
this rent." 

'' Mr. Dennis named the rent. But anything your 
honour plases ; anything at all that we can pay." 

" Oh, it's out of the question ; put it out of your head. 
No rent you can offer would do, for I have promised 
it to the surveyor." 

" Sir, Mr. Dennis knows my lord gave us his promise 
in writing of a renewal on the back of the ould lase." 

" Produce it." 

" Here's the lase, but the promise is rubbed out." 

" Nonsense ! Coming to me with a promise that's 
rubbed out. Who'll listen to that in a court of justice, 
do you think ? " 

** I don't know, plase your honour ; but this I'm sure 
of, my lord and Miss Nugent, though but a child at the 
time, God bless her ! who was by when my lord wrote 
it with his pencil, will remember it." 

" Miss Nugent } What can she know of business ? 
What has she to do with the management of Lord Clon- 
brony's estate, pray ? " 

** Management ! No, sir." 

" Do you wish to get Miss Nugent turned out of the 
house ? " 

" Oh, God forbid ! How could that be ? " 

" Very easily ; if you set about to make her meddle 
and witness in what my lord does not choose." 



CLONBRONY CASTLE. 225 

" Well, then, I never mention Miss Nugent's name in it 
at all, if it was ever so with me. But be plased, sir, 
to write over to my lord, and ask him ; I'm sure he'll 
remember it/' 

** Write to my lord about such a trifle ! Trouble 
him about such nonsense ! " 

"I'd be sorry to trouble him. Then take it on my 
word, and believe me, sir ; for I would not tell a lie, 
nor cheat rich or poor, if in my power, for the whole 
estate, nor the whole world ; for there's an eye above." 

** Cant ! Nonsense ! Take those leases off the table ; 
I will never sign them. Walk off, ye canting hag ! it's 
an imposition. I will never sign them." 

" You vxilly then, sir," cried Brian, growing red with 
indignation ; "for the law shall make you, so it shall — 
and you'd as good have been civil to my mother, whatever 
you did, for I'll stand by her while I've life ; and I 
know she has right, and shall have law. I saw the 
memorandum written before ever it went into your 
hands, sir, whatever became of it after — and will swear 
to it, too." 

" Swear away, my good friend ; much your swearing 
will avail in your own case in a court of justice," continued 
Old Nick, 

" And against a gentleman of my brother's established 
character and property," said St. Dennis. " What's 
your mother's character against a gentleman's like his ! " 

" Character ! Take care how you go to that, anyway, 
sir," said Brian, 

Grace put her hand before his mouth to stop him. 

" Grace, dear ! I must speak, if I die for it ; sure it's 
for my mother," said the young man, struggling forward, 
while his mother held him back. " I must speak." 



226 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" Oh, he's ruined ; I see it,'' cried Grace, putting her 
hand before her eyes, " and he won't mind me." 

*' Go on ; let him go on, pray, young woman," said 
Mr. Garraghty, pale with anger and fear, his lips quiver- 
ing. ** I shall be happy to take down his words." 

** Write them ; and may all the world read it, and 
welcome ! " 

His mother and wife stopped his mouth by force. 

** Write you, Dennis," said Mr. Garraghty, giving the 
pen to his brother ; for his hand shook so he could not 
form a letter. " Write the very words, and at the top " — 
(pointing) — ** after ' warning,' * with malice prepense' " 

" Write, then. Mother — Grace — let me," cried Brian, 
speaking in a smothered voice, as their hands were over 
his mouth. * Write, then, that if you'd either of you 
a character like my mother, you might defy the world, 
and your word would be as good as your oath." 

" Oath ! Mind that, Dennis," said Mr. Garraghty. 

" Oh, sir, sir ! won't you stop him ! " cried Grace, 
turning suddenly to Lord Colambre. 

** Oh, dear, dear ! if you haven't lost your feeling 
for us," cried the widow. 

*' Let him speak," said Lord Colambre, in a tone of 
authority ; ** let the voice of truth be heard." 

*' Truth ! " cried St. Dennis, and dropped the pen. 

" And who the devil are you, sir ? " said Old 
Nick. 

" Lord Colambre, I protest ! " exclaimed a female 
voice ; and Mrs. RafFarty at this instant appeared at the 
open door. 

" Lord Colambre ! " repeated all present in different 
tones. 

** My lord, I beg pardon," continued Mrs. Raffarty, 



CLONBRONY CASTLE. 227 

advancing as if her legs were tied ; " had I known you 
were down here, I would not have presumed. Fd better 
retire, for I see you're busy." 

** You'd best ; for you're mad, sister," said St. Dennis, 
pushing her back ; *' and we are busy. Go to your 
room, and keep quiet, if you can." 

*' First, madam," said Lord Cola mb re, going between 
her and the door ; " let me beg that you will consider 
yourself at home in this house. The hospitality you 
showed me, you cannot think that I now forget." 

** Oh, my lord, you're too good — kinder than my own." 
And bursting into tears, she escaped out of the room. 

Lord Colambre returned to the party round the table, 
who were in various attitudes of astonishment, and with 
faces of fear, horror, hope, joy, doubt. 

*' Distress," continued his lordship, " however in- 
curred, if not by vice, will always find a refuge in this 
house. I speak in my father's name, for I know I speak 
his sentiments. But never more shall vice," said he — 
darting such a look at the brother agents as they felt 
to the backbone-—'* never more shall vice, shall fraud 
enter here." 

He paused, and there was a momentary silence. 

" There spoke the true thing and the rale gentleman ; 
my own heart's satisfied," said Brian, folding his arms 
and standing erect. 

'* Then so is mine," said Grace, taking breath with a 
deep sigh. 

The widow, advancing, put on her spectacles, and look- 
ing up close at Lord Colambre 's face — '' Then it's a 
wonder I didn't know the family Hkeness." 

Lord Colambre now recollecting that he still wore the 
old greatcoat, threw it off. 



228 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" Oh, bless him ! Then now Td know him anywhere. 
Fm willing to die now, for we'll all be happy." 

** My lord, since it is so — my lord, may I ask you,'* 
said Mr. Garraghty, now sufficiently recovered to be 
able to articulate, but scarcely to express his ideas ; ** if 
what your lordship hinted just now " 

" I hinted nothing, sir. I spoke plainly." 

" I beg pardon, my lord," said Old Nick ; " respecting 
* vice ' was levelled at me ? Because if it was, my lord " 
— ^trying to stand erect — " let me tell your lordship, 
if I could think it was " 

" If it did not hit you, sir, no matter at whom it was 
levelled." 

"And let me ask, my lord, if I may presume, whether in 
what you suggested by the word * fraud,' your lordship 
had any particular meaning ? " said St. Dennis. 

" A very particular meaning, sir. Feel in your pocket 
for the key of this widow's house, and deliver it to her." 

" Oh, if that's all the meaning, with all the pleasure 
in life. I never meant to detain it longer than till the 
leases were signed," added St. Dennis. 

" And I'm ready to sign the leases this minute," said 
the brother. 

" Do it, sir, this minute. I have read them ; I will 
be answerable to my father." 

** Oh, as to that, my lord, I have power to sign for your 
father." 

He signed the leases. They were duly witnessed by 
Lord Colambre. 

" I deliver this as my act and deed," said Mr. 
Garraghty. " My lord," continued he, ** you see, 
at the first word from you ; and had I known sooner 
the interest you took in the family, there would have 



CLONBRONY CASTLE. 229 

been no difficulty ; for Fd make it a principle to oblige 
you, my lord." 

** Oblige me ! '' said Lord Colambre with disdain. 

** But when gentlemen and noblemen travel incognito, 
and lodge in cabins," added St. Dennis with a satanic 
smile, glancing his eyes on Grace, '* they have good 
reasons, no doubt." 

** Do not judge my heart by your own, sir," said Lord 
Colambre, coolly. ** No two things in nature can, 
I trust, be more different. My purpose in travelling 
incognito has been fully answered. I was determined 
to see and judge how my father's estates were managed ; 
and I have seen, compared, and judged. I have seen the 
difference between the Clonbrony and the Colambre 
property, and I shall represent what I have seen to my 
father." 

" As to that, my lord, if we are to come to that — but 
I trust your lordship will suffer me to explain these 
matters. Go about your business, my good friends — 
you have all you want ; and, my lord, after dinner, 
when you are cool, I hope I shall be able to make you 
sensible that things have been represented to your 
lordship in a mistaken light, and I flatter myself I shall 
convince you that I have not only always acted the part 
of a friend to the family, but am particularly willing 
to conciliate your lordship's goodwill," said he, sweeping 
the rouleaus of gold into a bag ; " any accommodation 
in my power at any time." 

'* I want no accommodation, sir ; were I starving, 
I would accept of none from you. Never can you gain 
my goodwill, for you can never deserve it." 

" If that be the case, my lord, I must conduct myself 
accordingly ; but it's fair to warn you before you make 



230 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

any representation to my Lord Clonbrony, that, if he 
should think of changing his agent, there are accounts 
to be settled between us. That may be a consideration." 

** No, sir, no consideration ; my father never shall be 
the slave of such a paltry consideration." 

** Oh, very well, my lord ; you know best. If you 
choose to make an assumpsit, I'm sure I shall not object 
to the security. Your lordship will be of age soon, 
I know — I'm sure, I'm satisfied. But," added he, with 
a malicious smile, " I rather apprehend you don't know 
what you undertake ; I only premise that the balance 
of accounts between us is not what can properly be called 
a paltry consideration." 

" On that point perhaps, sir, you and I may differ." 

" Very well, my lord, you will follow your own prin- 
ciples, if it suits your convenience." 

" Whether it does or not, sir, I shall abide by my 
principles." 

" Dennis, the letters to the post. When do you go 
to England, my lord ? " 

" Immediately, sir," said Lord Colambre. His lord- 
ship saw new leases from his father to Mr. Dennis 
Garraghty lying on the table unsigned. 

" Immediately ! " repeated Messrs. Nicholas and 
Dennis with an air of dismay. Nicholas got up, looked 
out of the window, and whispered something to his 
brother, who instantly left the room. 

Lord Colambre saw the postchaise at the door which 
had brought Mrs. Raffarty to the castle, and Larry 
standing beside it. His lordship instantly threw up the 
sash, and holding between his finger and thumb a six- 
shilUng piece, cried : ** Larry, my friend, let me have the 
horses ! " 



CLONBRONY CASTLE. 23 1 

** You shall have 'em, your honour," said Larry. 

Mr. Dennis Garraghty appeared below, speaking in a 
magisterial tone : ** Larry, my brother must have the 
horses." 

** He can't, plase your honour — they're engaged." 

** Half-a-crown ! — a crown ! — half-a-guinea ! " said Mr. 
Dennis Garraghty, raising his voice as he increased his 
proffered bribe. 

To each offer Larry replied, " You can't, plase your 
honour — they're engaged." And looking up to the 
window at Lord Colambre, he said, ** As soon as they 
have ate their oats you shall have 'em." 

No other horses were to be had. The agent was in 
consternation. Lord Colambre ordered that Larry 
should have some dinner, and whilst the postilion was 
eating, and the horses finishing their oats, his lordship 
wrote the following letter to his father, which, to prevent 
all possibility of accident, he determined to put with his 
own hand into the post-office at Clonbrony as he passed 
through the town : — 

" My dear Father, — I hope to be with you in a few 
days. Lest anything should detain me on the road, 
I write this to make an earnest request that you will not 
sign any papers or transact any further business with 
Messrs. Nicholas or Dennis Garraghty before you see 

" Your affectionate son, 

*' Colambre." 

Larry drove off at full gallop, and kept on at a good rate 
till he got out of the great gate and beyond the sight of the 
crowd. Then pulUng up, he turned to Lord Colambre. 

" Plase your honour, I did not know nor guess ye was 



232 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

my lord when I let you have the horses ; did not know 
wlio you w^as frona Adam, Til take my affidavit. " 

'' There's no occasion," said Lord Colambre ; " I 
hope you don't repent letting me have the horses, now 
you do know who I am ? " 

'' Oh ! not at all, sure. I'm as glad as the best horse 
ever I crossed that your honour is my lord ; but I was 
only telling your honour that you might not be looking 
upon me as a time-sarver." 

" I do not look upon you as a * time-sarver,* Larry ; 
but keep on, that time may serve me." 

In two words he explained his cause of haste, and it 
was no sooner explained than understood. Larry thun- 
dered away through the town of Clonbrony, bending 
over his horses, plying the whip, and lending his very 
soul at every lash. With much difficulty Lord Colambre 
stopped him at the end of the town, at the post-office. 
The post had gone. 

'* Maybe we'll overtake the mail," said Larry ; and as 
he spoke he slid down from his seat, and darted into the 
pubUc-house, reappearing in a few moments with a copper 
of ale and a horn in his hand. He and another man 
held open the horses' mouths, and poured the ale through 
the horn down their throats. 

** Now, they'll go with spirit ! " 

And wdth the hope of overtaking the mail, Larry made 
them go ** for life or death," as he said ; but in vain. 
At the next stage, at his own inn-door, Larry roared for 
fresh horses till he got them, harnessed them with his 
own hands, holding the six-shilling piece which Lord 
Colambre had given him in his mouth all the while, for 
he could not take time to put it into his pocket. 

" Speed ye ! I wish I was driving you all the way. 



CLONBRONY CASTLE 233 

then/' said he. The other postilion was not yet ready. 
*' Then your honour sees/' said he, putting his head 
into the carriage, '' consarning of them Garraghties — 
old Nick and St. Dennis — the best part, that is, the worst 
part, of what I told you, proved true ; and I'm glad of it 
- — that is, I'm sorry for it, but glad your honour knows 
it in time. So Heaven prosper you ! And may all the 
saints (barring St. Dennis) have charge of you, and all 
belonging to you, till we see you here again ! And when 
will it be ? " 

** I cannot say when I shall return to you myself, 
but I will do my best to send your landlord to you soon. 
In the meantime, my good fellow, keep away from the 
sign of the Horseshoe. A man of your sense, to drink 
and make an idiot and a brute of yourself ! " 

** True ! And it was only when I had lost hope I 

took to it ; but now Bring me the book, one of yees, 

out of the landlady's parlour. By the virtue of this book, 
and by all the books that ever was shut and opened, 
I won't touch a drop of spirits, good or bad, till I see your 
honour again, or some of the family, this time twelve- 
month — that long I live on hope. But mind, if you 
disappint me, I don't swear but I'll take to the whiskey 
for comfort all the rest of my days. But don't be staying 
here, wasting your time advising me. Bartley, take the 
reins, can't ye ? " cried he, giving them to the fresh 
postilion ; *' and keep on for your life, for there's 
thousands of pounds depending on the race. So off, 
Bartley, with the speed of light ! " 

Bartley did his best ; and such was the excellence of 
the roads that, notwithstanding the rate at which our hero 
travelled, he arrived safely in Dublin just in time to put 
his letter into the post-office, and to sail in that night'§ 



234 MARIA EDGEWORTH, 

packet. The wind was fair when Lord Colambre went 
on board, but before they got out of the bay it changed ; 
they made no way all night. In the course of the next 
day they had the mortification of seeing another packet 
from Dublin sail past them, and w^hen they landed at 
Holyhead were told the packet w^hich had left Ireland 
twelve hours after them had arrived an hour before them. 
The passengers had taken their places in the coach, and 
engaged what horses could be had. Lord Colambre 
was afraid that Mr. Garraghty was one of them, as a 
person exactly answering his description had taken four 
horses, and set out half-an-hour before in great haste 
for London. Luckily, just as those who had taken 
their places in the mail were getting into the coach, Lord 
Colambre saw among them a gentleman with whom 
he had been acquainted in Dublin, a barrister, who was 
come over during the long vacation to make a tour of 
pleasure in England. When Lord Colambre explained 
the reason he had for being in haste to reach London, 
he had the good nature to give up to him his place in the 
coach. Lord Colambre travelled all night, and delayed 
not one moment till he reached his father's house in 
London. 

** My father at home ? " 

** Yes, my lord, in his own room — the agent from 
Ireland with him, on particular business — desired not 
to be interrupted ; but Til go and tell him, my lord, 
you are come." 

Lord Colambre ran past the servant as he spoke — 
made his way into the room — found his father. Sir 
Terence OTay, and Mr. Garraghty — leases open on the 
table before them ; a candle lighted ; Sir Terence 
sealing ; Garraghty emptying a bag of guineas on the 



THE YELLOW DAMASK FURNITURE.- 235 

table, and Lord Clonbrony actually with a pen in his 
hand, ready to sign. 

As the door opened Garraghty started back, so that half 
the contents of his bag rolled upon the floor. 

'* Stop, my dear father, I conjure you," cried Lord 
Colambre, springing forward, and snatching the pen 
from his hand. 

Colambre exposed Garraghty 's villainies, but the Clonbrony 
estate was so involved that it was difficult to get rid of the agent. 
Finally, Colambre joined in clearing the property, on condition that 
Garraghty was replaced by Mr. Burke as agent, and that the family 
went back to live in Ireland. 



THE YELLOW DAMASK FURNITURE. 

" Oh, I see now what you are about," cried Lady 
Clonbrony ; ** you are coming round with your persua- 
sions and prefaces to ask me to give up Lon'on and go 
back with you to Ireland, my lord. You may save your- 
selves the trouble, all of you, for no earthly persuasions 
shall make me do it. I will never give up my taste on that 
pint. My happiness has a right to be as much considered 
as your father's, Colambre, or anybody's. And, in 
one word, I won't do it," cried she, rising angrily from the 
breakfast- table. 

** There ! did I not tell you how it would be ? " cried 
Lord Clonbrony. 

'* My mother has not heard me yet," said Lord 
Colambre, laying his hand upon his mother's arm as she 



236 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

attempted to pass ; ** hear me, madam, for your own sake. 
You do not know what will happen this very day — this 
very hour, perhaps — if you do not listen to me." 

** And what will happen ? " said Lady Clonbrony, 
stopping short. 

** Ay, indeed ; she little knows," said Lord Clonbrony, 
** what's hanging over her head." 

" Hanging over my head ! " said Lady Clonbrony, 
looking up. ** Nonsense ! What ? " 

** An execution, madam ! " said Lord Colambre. 

" Gracious me ! an execution ! " said Lady Clonbrony, 
sitting down again ; " but I heard you talk of an execu- 
tion months ago, my lord, before my son went to Ireland, 
and it blew over ; I heard no more of it." 

" It won't blow over now," said Lord Clonbrony ; 
" you'll hear more of it now. Sir Terence O'Fay it was, 
you may remember, that settled it then." 

" Well, and can't he settle it now ? Send for him, 
since he understands these cases ; and I will ask him to 
dinner myself, for your sake, and be very civil to him, 
my lord." 

" All your civility, either for my sake or your own, 
will not signify a straw, ray dear, in this case ; anything 
that poor Terry could do, he'd do, and welcome, without 
it ; but he can do nothing." 

** Nothing ! That's very extraordinary. But I'm 
clear no one dare to bring a real execution against us, 
in earnest ; and you are only trying to frighten me to 
your purpose, like a child ; but it shan't do." 

'' Very well, my dear ; you'll see — too late." 

A knock at the house-door. 

" Who is it ? What is it ? " cried Lord Clonbrony, 
growing very pale. 



THE YELLOW DAMASK FURNITURE. 237 

Lord Colambre changed colour too, and ran down- 
stairs. 

" Don't let 'em let anybody in, for your life, Colambre, 
under any pretence," cried Lord Clonbrony, calling 
from the head of the stairs. Then running to the window ; 
** By all that's good, it's Mordicai himself, and the people 
with him ! " 

" Lean your head on me, my dear aunt," said Miss 
Nugent. Lady Clonbrony leant back, trembling, and 
ready to faint. 

** But he's walking off now ; the rascal could not get 
in. Safe for the present ! " cried Lord Clonbrony, 
rubbing his hands, and repeating, ** Safe for the pre- 
sent !" 

" Safe for the present ! " repeated Lord Colambre, 
re-entering the room. ** Safe for the present hour." 

" He could not get in, I suppose ; oh, I warned all 
the servants well," said Lord Clonbrony, ** and so did 
Terry. Ay, there's the rascal Mordicai walking off, 
at the end of the street ; I know his walk a mile off. 
Gad ! I can breathe again. I am glad he's gone. But 
he will come back, and always lie in wait, and some time 
or other, when we're off our guard, unawares he'll 
slide in." 

** SUde in ! Oh, horrid ! " cried Lady Clonbrony, 
sitting up, and wiping away the water which Miss Nugent 
had sprinkled on her face. 

** Were you much alarmed ? " said Lord Colambre, 
with a voice of tenderness, looking at his mother first, 
and then, more softly still, upon Miss Nugent. 

'' Shockingly ! " said Lady Clonbrony ; ** I never 
thought it would reelly come to this ! " 

** It will really come to much more, my dear," said 



238 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Lord Clonbrony, " that you may depend upon, unless 
you prevent it." 

" Lord ! what can I do ? I know nothing of business. 
How should I, Lord Clonbrony ? But I know there's 
Colambre — I was always told that when he was of age 
everything should be settled ; and why can't he settle 
it when he's upon the spot ? " 

" And upon one condition I will," cried Lord Colambre, 
** at what loss to myself, my dear mother, I need not 
mention." 

" Then I will mention it," cried Lord Clonbrony ; 
*' at the loss it will be of nearly half the estate he would 

have had if we had not spent it " 

** Loss ! Oh, I am excessively sorry my son's to be at 
such a loss. It must not be." 

** It cannot be otherwise," said Lord Clonbrony ; 
** nor it can't be this way either. Lady Clonbrony, unless 
you comply with his condition, and consent to return to 
Ireland." 

'* Ifcannot — I will not," rephed Lady Clonbrony. 
** Is this your condition, Colambre ? I take it exceed- 
ingly ill of you. I think it very unkind, and unhandsome, 
and ungenerous, and undutiful of you, Colambre ; you, 
my son ! " She poured forth a torrent of reproaches ; 
then came to entreaties and tears. But our hero, prepared 
for this, had steeled his mind, and he stood resolved 
not to indulge his own feelings, or to yield to caprice 
or persuasion ; but to do that which he knew was best 
for the happiness of hundreds of tenants, who depended 
upon them ; best for both his father and his mother's 
ultimate happiness and respectability. 

*' It's all in vain," cried Lord Clonbrony ; ** I have no 
resource but one ; and I must condescend now to go 



THE YELLOW DAMASK FURNITURE. 239 

to him this minute, for Mordicai will be back and seize 
all. I must sign and leave all to Garraghty." 

'* Well, sign, sign, my lord, and settle with Garraghty. 
Colambre, IVe heard all the complaints you brought over 
against that man. My lord spent half the night telling 
them to me ; but all agents are bad, I suppose ; at any 
rate, I can't help it. Sign, sign, my lord ; he has money. 
Yes, do ; go and settle with him, my lord." 

Lord Colambre and Miss Nugent, at one and the same 
moment, stopped Lord Clonbrony as he was quitting 
the room, and then approached Lady Clonbrony with 
supplicating looks. She turned her head to the other 
side, and, as if putting away their entreaties, made a 
repel Hng motion with both her hands, and exclaimed : 
** No, Grace Nugent ; no, Colambre ; no, no, Colambre ! 
ril never hear of leaving Lon'on. There's no living out 
of Lon'on ; I can't, I won't, live out of Lon'on, I say." 

Her son saw that the Londonomania was now stronger 
then ever upon her, but he resolved to make one desperate 
appeal to her natural feelings, which, though smothered, 
he could not believe were wholly extinguished. He 
caught her repelling hands, and, pressing them with 
respectful tenderness to his lips : " Oh, my dear mother, 
you once loved your son," said he, " loved him better 
than anything in this world ; if one spark of affection 
for him remains, hear him now, and forgive him if he 
pass the bounds — bounds he never passed before — of 
filial duty. Mother, in compliance with your wishes, 
my father left Ireland — left his home, his duties, his 
friends, his natural connections, and for many years 
he has lived in England, and you have spent many 
seasons in London." 

*' Yes, in the very best company — in the very best 



240 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

circles/' said Lady Clonbrony ; ** cold as the high-bred 
English are said to be in general to strangers." 

" Yes," replied Lord Colambre, '* the very best 
company (if you mean the most fashionable) have 
accepted of our entertainments. We have forced our way 
into their frozen circles ; we have been permitted to 
breathe in these elevated regions of fashion ; we can say 
that the Duke of This and my Lady That are our acquaint- 
ances. We may say more ; we may boast that we have 
vied with those whom we could never equal. And at 
what expense have we done all this ? For a single season, 
the last winter (I will go no farther), at the expense of a 
great part of your timber, the growth of a century, 
swallowed in the entertainments of one winter in London ! 
Our hills are to be bare for another half-century to come ! 
But let the trees go ; I think more of your tenants — of 
those left under the tyranny of a bad agent, at the expense 
of every comfort, every hope they enjoyed — tenants 
who were thriving and prosperous, who used to smile 
upon you and to bless you both ! In one cottage I have 
seen " 

Here Lord Clonbrony, unable to restrain his emotion, 
hurried out of the room. 

** Then I am sure it is not my fault," said Lady 
Clonbrony ; ** for I brought my lord a large fortune, 
and I am confident I have not, after all, spent more any 
season, in the best company, than he has among a set 
of low people, in his muddling, discreditable way." 

** And how has he been reduced to this ? " said Lord 
Colambre. ** Did he not formerly live with gentlemen, 
his equals, in his own country ? His contemporaries, 
men of the first station and character, whom I met in 
Dublin, spoke of him in a manner that gratified the heart 



THE YELLOW DAMASK FURNITURE. 241 

of his son. He was respectable and respected in his own 
home ; but when he was forced away from that home, 
deprived of his objects, his occupations, constrained 
to live in London or at watering-places, where he could 
find no employments that were suitable to him ; set 
down late in life in the midst of strangers, to him cold 
and reserved ; himself too proud to bend to those who 
disdained him as an Irishman ; — is he not more to be 
pitied than blamed for — yes, I, his son, must say the 
word — the degradation which has ensued ? And do 
not the feelings which have this moment forced him to 

leave the room show that he is capable O mother ! '' 

cried Lord Colambre, throwing himself at Lady Clon- 
brony's feet, ** restore my father to himself ! Should 
such feelings be wasted ? No ! Permit them again 
to expand in benevolent, in kind, useful actions. Restore 
him to his tenantry, his duties, his country, his home. 
Return to that home yourself, dear mother ; leave all 
the nonsense of high life ; scorn the impertinence of 
these dictators of fashion, who, in return for all the pains 
we take to imitate, to court them — in return for the 
sacrifice of health, fortune, peace of mind — bestow 
sarcasm, contempt, ridicule, and mimicry." 

" O Colambre ! Colambre ! Mimicry ? Til never 
believe it." 

'' Believe me, believe me, mother ; for I speak of what 
I know. Scorn them, quit them ; return to an un- 
sophisticated people — to poor but grateful hearts, still 
warm with the remembrance of your kindness, still 
blessing you for favours long since conferred, ever praying 
to see you once more. Believe me, for I speak of what 
I know ; your son has heard these prayers, has felt 
these blessings — here, at my heart, fe)t and still feel 



242 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

them, when I was not known to be your son, in the cottage 
of the widow O'Neil.'' 

** Oh, did you see the widow O'Neil ? And does she 
remember me ? " said Lady Clonbrony. 

*' Remember you — and you, Miss Nugent ! I have 

slept in the bed I would tell you more, but I 

cannot." 

'* Well ! I never should have thought they would 
have remembered me so long, poor people ! '* said Lady 
Clonbrony. '' I thought all in Ireland must have 
forgotten me, it is now so long since I was at home." 

** You are not forgotten in Ireland by any rank, I c^i 
answer for that. Return home, my dearest mother ; 
let me see you once more among your natural friends, 
beloved, respected, happy." 

'' Oh, return, let us return home ! " cried Miss Nugent, 
with a voice of great emotion. '* Return, let us return 
home ! My beloved aunt, speak to us ; say that you 
grant our request." 

She knelt beside Lord Colambre as she spoke. 

*' Is it possible to resist that voice — that look ? " 
thought Lord Colambre. 

*' If anybody knew," said Lady Clonbrony, ** if 
anybody could conceive how I detest the sight, the 
thoughts of that old yellow damask furniture in the 
drawing-room at Clonbrony Castle " 

** Good heavens ! " cried Lord Colambre, starting up 
and looking at his mother in stupefied astonishment ; 
'' is that what you are thinking of, mother ? " 

*' The yellow damask furniture," said her niece, 
smihng ; *' oh, if that's all, that shall never offend your 
eyes again. Aunt, my painted velvet chairs are finished ; 
and trust the furnishing of that room to me. The legacy 



THE YELLOW DAMASK FURNITURE. 243 

lately left mc cannot be better applied. You shall see 
how beautifully it will be furnished." 

'' Oh, if I had the money I should like to do it myself ; 
but it would take an immensity to furnish Clonbrony 
Castle properly." 

'' The furniture in this house " said Miss Nugent, 

looking round. 

'' Would do a great deal towards it, I declare," cried 
Lady Clonbrony ; '* that never struck me before, Grace, 
I protest ; and what would not suit, one might sell or 
exchange here. It would be great amusement to me, 
and I should like to set the fashion of something better 
in that country. And I declare now, I should like to see 
those poor people, and the Widow O'Neil. I do assure 
you, I think I was happier at home ; only that one gets 
— I don't know how — a notion that one's nobody out 
of London. But, after all, there's many drawbacks in 
Lon'on, and many people are very impertinent, Fll allow ; 
and if there's a woman in the world I hate, it is Mrs. 
Dareville ; and if I was leaving Lon'on, I should not 
regret Lady Langdale neither ; and Lady St. James is as 
cold as a stone. Colambre may well say frozen circles ! 
these sort of people are really very cold, and have, I do 
believe, no hearts. I don't verily think there is one of 

them would regret me more Eh — ^let me see ; 

Dublin — the winter, Merrion Square — ^new furnished ; 
and the summer, Clonbrony Castle " 

Lord Colambfe and Miss Nugent waited in silence till 
her mind should have worked itself clear. One great 
obstacle had been removed, and now that the yellow 
damask had been taken out of her imagination they no 
longer despaired. 

Lord Clonbrony put his head into the room. 



244 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

'' What hopes — any ? If not, let me go." 

He saw the doubting expression of Lady Clonbrony's 
countenance, and hope in the face of his son and niece. 

** My dear, dear Lady Clonbrony, make us all happy 
by one word," said he, kissing her. 

** You never kissed me so since we left Ireland," said 
Lady Clonbrony. '* Well, since it must be so, let us go," 
she said. 

** Did I ever see such joy ! " said Lord Clonbrony, 
clasping his hands ; ** I never expected such joy in my 
life ! I must go and tell poor Terry ! " And off he 
ran. 



LIFE IN THE ARMY. 

" First give me your advice. Count O'Halloran ; you 
are well acquainted with the military profession, with 
military life. Would you advise me — I won't speak 
of myself, because we judge better by general views than 
by particular cases — would you advise a young man at 
present to go into the army ? " 

The count was silent for a few minutes, and then 
replied : ** Since you seriously ask my opinion, my lord, 
I must lay aside my own prepossessions, and endeavour 
to speak with impartiality. To go into the army in these 
days, my lord, is, in my sober opinion, the most absurd 
and base, or the wisest and noblest, thing a young man 
can do. To enter into the army with the hope of escaping 
from the application necessary to acquire knowledge, 
letters and science — I run no risk, my lord, in saying 



LIFE IN THE ARMY, 245 

this to you — to go into the army with the hope of escaping 
from knowledge, letters, science, and moraUty ; to 
wear a red coat and an epaulette ; to be called captain ; to 
figure at a ball ; to lounge away time in country sports, at 
country quarters, was never, even in times of peace, 
creditable ; but it is now absurd and base. Submitting 
to a certain portion of ennui and contempt, this mode of 
life for an officer was formerly practicable, but now 
cannot be submitted to without utter, irremediable 
disgrace. Officers are now, in general, men of education 
and information ; want of knowledge, sense, manners, 
must consequently be immediately detected, ridiculed 
and despised in a military man. Of this we have not 
long since seen lamentable examples in the raw officers 
who have lately disgraced themselves in my neighbour- 
hood in Ireland — that Major Benson and Captain 
WilHamson. But I will not advert to such insignificant 
individuals, such are rare exceptions — I leave them out 
of the question — I reason on general principles. The 
life of an officer is not now a life of parade, of coxcombical 
or of profligate idleness ; but of active service, of continual 
hardship and danger. All the descriptions which we see 
in ancient history of a soldier's life, descriptions which 
in times of peace appeared like romance, are now realized ; 
miUtary exploits fill every day's newspapers, every day's 
conversation. A martial spirit is now essential to the 
liberty and the existence of our own country. In the 
present state of things the military must be the most 
honourable profession, because the most useful. Every 
movement of an army is followed, wherever it goes, 
by the public hopes and fears. Every officer must now 
feel, besides this sense of collective importance, a belief 
that his only dependence must be on his own merit ; 



246 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

and thus his ambition, his enthusiasm, are raised ; and 
when once this noble ardour is kindled in the breast, 
it excites exertion and supports under endurance. But I 
forget myself," said the count, checking his enthusiasm ; 
" I promised to speak soberly. If I have said too much, 
your own good sense, my lord, will correct me, and 
your good nature will forgive the prolixity of an old man 
touching upon his favourite subject, the passion of his 
youth." 

Count O'Halloran was able to clear up a mystery as to the birth 
of Grace Nugent, really Grace Reynolds, that had caused great 
unhappiness to Colambre, who " had the greatest dread of marrying 
any woman whose mother had conducted herself ill.'* The discovery 
of a rich grandfather of Grace removed I^ady Clonbrony's objections 
to the match. 



"COME BACK TO ERIN.'* 

Happy as a lover, a friend, a son ; happy in the con- 
sciousness of having restored a father to respectability 
and persuaded a mother to quit the feverish joys of fashion 
for the pleasures of domestic life ; happy in the hope 
of winning the whole heart of the woman he loved, and 
whose esteem he knew he possessed and deserved ; happy 
in developing every day, every hour, fresh charms 
in his destined bride — ^we leave our hero, returning to 
his native country. 

And we leave him with the reasonable expectation 
that he will support through life the promise of his early 
character ; that his patriotic views will extend with his 



'* COME BACK TO ERIN." 247 

power to carry wishes into action ; that his attachment 
to his warm-hearted countrymen will still increase upon 
further acquaintance ; and that he will long diffuse 
happiness through the wide circle which is peculiarly 
subject to the influence and example of a great resident 
Irish proprietor. 



LETTER FROM LARRY TO HIS BROTHER, PAT BRADY, 
AT MR. MORDICAl'S, COACHMAKER, LONDON. 

" My dear Brother, — Yours of the i6th, inclosing 
the five-pound note for my father, came safe to hand 
Monday last ; and with his thanks and blessing to you, 
he commends it to you herewith inclosed back again, 
on account of his being in no immediate necessity, nor 
likelihood to want in future, as you shall hear forthwith, 
but wants you over with all speed ; and the note will 
answer for traveUing charges ; for we can't enjoy the luck 
it has pleased God to give us without yees. Put the rest 
in your pocket, and read it when you have time. 

** Old Nick's gone, and St. Dennis along with him, 
to the place he come from — praise be to God ! The 
ould lord has found h^'m out in his tricks ; and I helped 
him to that, through the young lord that I driv, as I 
informed you in my last, when he was a Welshman, 
which was the best turn ever I did, though I did not 
know it no more than Adam that time. So ould Nick's 
turned out of the agency clean and clear ; and the day 
after it was known, there was surprising great joy through 
the whole country — not surprising either, but just 
what you might, knowing him, rasonably expect. He 



248 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

(that is, Old Nick and St. Dennis) would have been burnt 
that night — I mane in effigy — through the town of 
Clonbrony but that the new man, Mr. Burke, come 
down that day too soon to stop it, and said ' it was not 
becoming to trample on the fallen,' or something that 
way, that put an end to it ; and though it was a great 
disappointment to many, and to me in particular, I could 
not but like the jantleman the better for it anyhow. 
They say he is a very good jantleman, and as unlike 
Old Nick or the Saint as can be, and takes no duty-fowl, 
nor glove, nor seaUng money ; nor asks duty- work nor 
duty-turf. Well, when I was disappointed of the effigy, 
I comforted myself by making a bonfire of Old Nick's 
big rick of duty-turf, which, by great luck, was out 
in the road, away from all dwellinghouse, or thatch, or 
yards, to take fire ; so no danger in life or objection. 
And such another blaze ! I wished you'd seed it ; and 
all the men, women, and children in the town and country, 
far and near, gathered round it, shouting and dancing 
like mad ! and it was light as day quite across the bog, 
as far as Bartley Finnigan's house. And I heard after, 
they seen it from all parts of the three counties ; and they 
thought it was St. John's Eve in a mistake or couldn't 
make out what it was ; but all took it in good part for a 
good sign, and were in great joy. As for St. Dennis 
and Ould Nick, an attorney had his foot upon 'em, with 
an havere, a latitat, and three executions hanging over 
'em ; and there's the end of rogues ; and a great example 
in the country. And — ^no more about it ; for I can't 
be wasting more ink upon them that don't deserve it 
at my hands, when I want it for them that do, you 
shall see. So some weeks past, and there was great 
cleaning at Clonbrony Castle and in the town of Clon- 



" COME BACK TO ERIN." 249 

brony ; and the new agent's smart and clever ; and he 
had the glaziers and the painters and the slaters up and 
down in the town wherever wanted ; and you wouldn't 
know it again. Thinks I, this is no bad sign. Now, 
cock up your ears, Pat ! for the great news is coming, 
and the good. The master's come home — long life to 
him ! — and family come home yesterday, all entirely ! 
The ould lord and the young lord (ay, there's the man, 
Paddy ! ) and my lady and Miss Nugent. And I driv 
Miss Nugent's maid and another ; so I had the luck 
to be in along wid 'em and see all, from first to last. 
And first I must tell you my young Lord Colambre 
remembered and noticed me the minute he lit at our inn, 
and condescended to beckon me out of the yard to him, 
and axed me — * Friend, Larry,' says he, ' did you keep 
your promise ? ' * My oath again' the whiskey, is it ? ' 
says L * My lord, I surely did,' said I, which was true, 
as all the country knows I never tasted a drop since. 
* And I'm proud to see your honour, my lord, as good 
as your word, too, and back again among us.' So then 
there was a call for the horses ; and no more at that time 
passed betwix' my young lord and me. but that he 
pointed me out to the ould one as I went off. I noticed 
and thanked him for it in my heart, though I did not 
know all the good was to come of it. Well, no more 
of myself for the present. 

** Ogh, it's I driv 'em well ; and we all got to the great 
gate of the park before sunset, and as fine an evening 
as ever you see ; with the sun shining on the tops of the 
trees, as the ladies noticed ; the leaves changed, but 
not dropped, though so late in the season. I believe 
the leaves knew what they were about, and kept on, 
on purpose to welcome them ; and the birds were 



250 , MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

singing, and I stopped whistling that they might hear 
them ; but sorrow bit could they hear when they got 
to the park gate, for there was such a crowd, and such 
a shout, as you never see ; and they had the horses off 
every carriage entirely, and drew 'em home, with blessings, 
through the park. And, God bless 'em ! when they 
got out they didn't go shut themselves up in the great 
drawing-room, but went straight out to the tirrass, to 
satisfy the eyes and hearts that followed them ; my lady 
laning on my young lord, and Miss Grace Nugent that 
was, the beautifuUest angel that ever you set eyes on, 
with the finest complexion and sweetest of smiles, laning 
upon the ould lord's arm, who had his hat off, bowing 
to all and noticing the old tenants as he passed by name. 
Oh, there was great gladness and tears in the midst ; 
for joy I could scarce keep from myself. 

" After a turn or two upon the tirrass, my Lord 
Colambre quit his mother's arm for a minute, and he 
come to the edge of the slope, and looked down and 
through all the crowd for some one. 

" ' Is it the widow O'Neil, my lord ? ' says I ; * she's 
yonder, with the white kerchief, betwixt her son and 
daughter, as usual.' 

" Then my lord beckoned, and they did not know 
which of the tree would stir ; and then he gave tree 
beckons with his own finger, and they all tree came 
fast enough to the bottom of the slope forenent my lord ; 
and he went down and helped the widow up — (oh, he's 
the true jantleman ! ) — and brought 'em all tree up on 
the tirrass to my lady and Miss Nugent ; and I was 
up close after, that I might hear — ^which wasn't manners, 
but I couldn't help it. So what he said I don't well 
know, for I could not get near enough, after all. But I 



'' COME BACK TO ERIN." 25 1 

saw my lady smile very kind, and take the widow O'Neil 
by the hand, and then Lord Colambre 'troduced Grace 
to Miss Nugent, and there was the word namesake, 
and something about a check curtains ; but whatever 
it was, they was all greatly pleased ; then my Lord 
Colambre turned and looked for Brian, who had fallen 
back, and took him with some commendation to my lord 
his father. And my lord the master said, which I didn't 
know till after, that they should have their house and farm 
at the ould rent ; and at the surprise the widow dropped 
down dead ; and there was a cry as for ten herrings. 
* Be qui't,' says I ; * she's only kilt for joy ' ; and I went 
and lift her up, for her son had no more strength that 
minute than the child new born ; and Grace trembled 
Uke a leaf, as white as the sheet, but not long ; for the 
mother came to, and was as well as ever when I brought 
some water, which Miss Nugent handed to her with her 
own hand. 

That was always pretty and good,' said the widow, 
laying her hand upon Miss Nugent, ' and kind and good 
to me and mine.' 

" That minute there was music from below ; the blind 
harper, O'Neil, with his harp, that struck up ' Gracey 
Nugent.' 

" And that finished, and my Lord Colambre smiling, 
with the tears standing in his eyes too, and the ould lord 
quite wiping his, I ran to the tirrass brink to bid O'Neil 
play it again ; but as I run I thought I heard a voice call 
' Larry .? ' 

'' ' Who calls Larry .? ' says I. 

My Lord Colambre calls you, Larry,' says all at 
once ; and four takes me by the shoulders and spins me 
round. 



252 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" ' There's my young lord calling you, Larry — run 
for your life.' 

" So I run back for my life, and walked respectful, with 
my hat in my hand, when I got near. 

" * Put on your hat ; my father desires it,* says Lord 
Colambre. The ould lord made a sign to that purpose, 
but was too full to speak. * Where's your father ? ' 
continues my young lord. — * He's very ould, my lord,' 
says L — * I didn't ax you how ould he was,' says he ; 

* -but where is he ? ' — ' He's behind the crowd below, 
on account of his infirmities ; he couldn't walk so fast 
as the rest, my lord,' says I ; * but his heart is with you, 
if not his body.' — * I must have his body too ; so bring 
him bodily before us ; and this shall be your warrant for 
so doing,' said my lord, joking. For he knows the 
natur' of us, Paddy, and how we love a joke in our hearts, 
as well as if he had lived all his life in Ireland ; and by 
the same token will, for that rason, do what he pleases 
with us, and more maybe than a man twice as good, 
that never would smile on us. 

** But I'm telling you of my father. * I've a warrant 
for you, father,' says I ; * and must have you bodily 
before the justice, and my lord chief justice.' So he 
changed colour a bit at first ; but he saw me smile. 

* And I've done no sin,' said he ; * and, Larry, you may 
lead me now, as you led me all my life.' 

** And up the slope he went with me as light as fifteen ; 
and when we got up, my Lord Clonbrony s^id, ' I am 
sorry an old tenant, and a good old tenant, as I hear you 
were, should have been turned out of your farm.' 

** ' Don't fret — it's no great matter, my lord,' said my 
father. * I shall soon be out of the way ; but if you 
would be so kind to speak a word for my boy here, and 



** CX)ME BACK TO ERIN." 253 

that I could afford, while the life is in me, to bring my 
other boy back out of banishment/ 

" * Then,' says my Lord Clonbrony, * I'll give you and 
your sons three lives, or thirty-one years, from this day, 
of your former farm. Return to it when you please.' 
* And,' added my Lord Colambre, * the flaggers, I hope, 
will be soon banished.' Oh, how I could thank him — • 
not a word could I proffer — but I know I clasped my two 
hands, and prayed for him inwardly. And my father 
was dropping down on his knees, but the master would 
not let him ; and obsarved that posture should only be 
for his God. And, sure enough, in that posture, when 
he was out of sight, we did pray for him that night, and 
will all our days. 

" But before we quit his presence he called me back, 
and bid me write to my brother, and bring you back, 
if you've no objections, to your own country. 

" * So come, my dear Pat, and make no delay, for 
joy's not joy complate till you're in it. My father sends 
his blessing and Peggy her love. The family entirely 
is to settle for good in Ireland, and there was in the 
castle-yard last night a bonfire, made by my lord's 
orders, of the ould yellow damask furniture, to plase 
my lady, my lord says. And the drawing-room, the 
butler was telling me, is new hung, and the chairs, with 
velvet as white as snow, and shaded over with natural 
flowers, by Miss Nugent. Oh ! how I hope what I guess 
will come true, and I've rason to believe it will, for I 
dreamt in my bed last night it did — but keep yourself 
to yourself — that Miss Nugent (who is no more Miss 
Nugent, they say, but Miss Reynolds, and has a new- 
found grandfather, and is a big heiress, which she did 
not want in my eyes, nor in my young lord's), I've a 



254 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

notion, will be some time, and maybe sooner than is 
expected, my Lady Viscountess Colambre ; so haste 
to the wedding. And there's another thing ; they say 
the rich ould grandfather's coming over ; and another 
thing, Pat — you would not be out of the fashion, and you 
see it's growing the fashion not to be an Absentee. 

" Your loving Brother, 

"Larry Brady.'' 



GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 255 



ORMOND. 

Henry Ormond, an orphan, who is just under nineteen when the 
story opens, had been adopted by Sir Ulick O'Shane, his father's 
friend, but, while Sir Ulick sent his own son Marcus to school and 
college, Harry had been let to run wild at home ; the gamekeeper, 
the huntsman, and a cousin of Sir Ulick, who called himself the 
King of the Black Islands, had had the principal share in 
his education. The two boys were not on good terms, Marcus being 
jealous and overbearing. Sir Ulick wished to marry his son to an 
heiress, Miss Annaly, and Harry Ormond 's growing friendship with 
the Annaly family, which stood in the way of this plan, forms to a 
great extent the plot of the novel. The story opens at Castle 
Hermitage, Sir UHck's seat. Marcus and Harry, returning from 
a dinner at " King Corny 's," where they had drunk too deeply, had 
a brawl with a party of countrymen on the road, in which Harry 
accidentally shot one Moriarty O' Carroll. Lady O 'Shane resented 
the wounded man's being brought into her house, and, as a result 
of the complications that followed. Sir Ulick arranged that Harry 
and Moriarty should go to the Black Islands for a time. 



GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 

Full of sudden zeal for his own improvement, Ormond 
sat down at the foot of a tree, determined to make a list of 
all his faults, and of all his good resolutions for the future. 
He took out his pencil, and began on the back of a letter 
the following resolutions, in a sad scrawling hand and 
incorrect style. 

HARRY ORMOND'S GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 

Resolved ist. — That I will never drink more than 
{blank number of) glasses. 

Resolved zndly. — That I will cure myself of being 
passionate. 



256 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Resolved 3rdly. — That I will never keep low com- 
pany. 

Resolved. — That I am too fond of flattery — women's, 
especially, I Uke most. To cure myself of that. 

Here he was interrupted by the sight of a little gossoon, 
with a short stick tucked under his arm, who came 
pattering on barefoot in a kind of pace indescribable 
to those who have never seen it — ^it was something as 
like walking or running as chanting is to speaking or 
singing. 

" The answer I am from the Black Islands, Master 
Harry ; and would have been back wid you afore night- 
fall yesterday, only he — King Corny — was at the fair of 
Frisky — could not write till this morning anyway — but 
has his service to ye, Master Harry, will be in it for ye 
by half after two with a bed and blanket for Moriarty, he 
bid me say on account he forgot to put it in the note. In 
the Sally Cove the boat will be there abow in the big 
lough, forenent the spot where the fir dale was cut last 
seraph by them rogues." 

The despatch from the King of the Black Islands was 
then produced from the messenger's bosom, and it ran 
as follows : 

" Dear Harry, — What the mischief has come over 
Cousin Ulick to be banishing you from Castle Hermitage ? 
But since he conformed ^ he was never the same man, 
especially since his last mis-marriage. But no use 
moralizing — he was always too much of a courtier for me. 
Come you to me, my dear boy, who is no courtier, and 
you'll be received and embraced with open arms — ^was I 
Briareus, the same way ; bring Moriarty Carroll (if 
that's his name), the boy you shot, which has given you 
so much concern — ^for which I Uke you the better — and 



GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 257 

honour that boy, who, living or dying, forbade to prose- 
cute. Don't be surprised to see the roof the way it is — 
since Tuesday I wedged it up bodily without stirring a 
stick — you'll see it from the boat, standing three foot 
high above the walls, waiting while I'm building up to 
it — to get attics — which I shall for next to nothing — 
by my own contrivance. Meantime, good, dry lodging, 
as usual, for all friends at the palace. He shall be well 
tended for you by Sheelah Dunshaughlin, the mother of 
Betty, worth a hundred of her ! and we'll soon set him 
up again with the help of such a nurse, as well as ever, 
ril engage ; for I'm a bit of a doctor, you know, as well 
as everything else. But don't let any other doctor, 
surgeon, or apothecary, be coming after him for your life 
— ^for none ever gets a permit to land, to my knowledge, 
on the Black Islands — to which I attribute, under Provi- 
dence, to say nothing of my own skill in practice, the 
wonderful preservation of my people in health — that 
and woodsorrell, and another secret or two not to be com- 
mitted to paper in a hurry — all which I would not have 
written to you, but am in the gout since four this morning 
held by the foot fast — else I'd not be writing, but would 
have gone every inch of the way for you myself in style, 
in lieu of sending, which is all I can now do, my six- 
oared boat, streamers flying, and piper playing like mad — 
for I would not have you be coming like a banished man, 
but in all glory, to Cornelius O 'Shane, commonly called 
King Corny — but no king to you, only your hearty old 
friend." 

" Heaven bless Cornelius O'Shane ! " said Harry 
Ormond to himself, as he finished this letter. " King 
or no king, the most warm-hearted man on earth, let the 
other be who he will." 



258 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Then pressing this letter to his heart, he put it up 
carefully, and rising in haste, he dropped the list of his 
faults. That train of associations was completely broken, 
and for the present completely forgotten ; nor was it 
likely to be soon renewed at the Black Islands, especially 
in the palace, where he was now going to take up his 
residence. Moriarty was laid on a bed ; and was 
transported with Ormond, in the six-oared boat, streamers 
flying, and piper playing, across the lake to the islands. 
Moriarty's head ached terribly, but he, nevertheless, 
enjoyed the playing of the pipes in his ear, because of 
the air of triumph it gave Master Harry, to go away in 
this grandeur, in the face of the country. King Corny 
ordered the discharge of twelve guns on his landing, 
which popped one after another gloriously — the hospitable 
echoes y as Moriarty called them, repeating the sound. 
A horse, decked with ribands, waited on the shore, with 
King Corny's compliments for Prince Harry, as the boy 
who held the stirrup for Ormond to mount said he was 
instructed to call him, and to proclaim him *' Prince 
Harry " throughout the island, which he did by sound of 
horn, the whole way they proceeded to the palace — ^very 
much to the annoyance of the horse, but all for the 
greater glory of the prince, who managed his steed to 
the admiration of the shouting ragged multitude, and 
of his majesty, who sat in state in his gouty chair at the 
palace door. He had had himself rolled out to welcome 
the coming guest. 

" By all that's princely," cried'he, '* then, that young 
Harry Ormond was intended for a prince, he sits a horse 
so like myself ; and that horse requires a master hand to 
manage him." 

Ormond alighted. 



GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 259 

The gracious, cordial, fatherly welcome with which 
he was received delighted his heart. 

" Welcome, prince, my adopted son, welcome to 
Corny castle — palace I would have said only for the 
constituted authorities of the post-office, that might take 
exceptions, and not be sending me my letters right. 
As I am neither bishop nor arch, I have, in their blind 
eyes or conceptions, no right — ^Lord help them ! — to a 
temporal palace. Be that as it may, come you in with me, 
here into the big room — and see ! there's the bed in the 
corner for your first object my boy — your wounded chap ; 
and ril visit his wound, and fix it and him the first thing 
for ye, the minute he comes up." 

His majesty pointed to a bed in the corner of a large 
apartment, whose beautiful painted ceihng and cornice, 
and fine chimney-piece with caryatides of white marble, 
ill accorded with the heaps of oats and corn, the thrashing 
cloth and flail, which lay on the floor. 

" It is intended for a drawing-room, understand," said 
King Corny ; " but till it is finished, I use it for a granary 
or a barn, when it would not be a barrack-room or 
hospital, which last is most useful at present." 

To this hospital Moriarty was carefully conveyed. 
Here; notwithstanding his gout, which affected only 
his feet, King Corny dressed Moriarty's wound with 
exquisite tenderness and skill ; for he had actually 
acquired knowledge and address in many arts, with 
which none could have suspected him to have been in 
the least acquainted. 

Dinner was soon announced, which was served up 
with such a strange mixture of profusion and carelessness, 
as showed that the attendants, who were numerous 
and ill-caparisoned, were not much used to gala-days. 



26o MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

The crowd, who had accompanied Moriarty into the 
house, were admitted into the dining-room, where 
they stood round the king, prince, and Father Jos, the 
priest, as the courtiers, during the king's supper at 
Versailles, surrounded the King of France. But these 
poor people were treated with more hospitality than were 
the courtiers of the French king ; for as soon as the dishes 
were removed, their contents were generously distributed 
among the attendant multitude. The people blest 
both king and prince, " wishing them health and happi- 
ness long to reign over them '* ; and bowing suitably 
to his majesty the king, and to his reverence the priest, 
without standing upon the order of their going, departed. 

" And now. Father Jos,'* said the king to the priest, 
** say grace, and draw close, and let me see you do justice 
to my claret, or the whiskey punch if you prefer ; and 
you. Prince Harry, we will set to it regally as long as you 
please.*' 

** Till tea-time,*' thought young Harry. " Till supper- 
time," thought Father Jos. " Till bed-time," thought 
King Corny. 

At tea-time young Harry, in pursuance of his resolution 
the first, rose, but he was seized instantly, and held down 
to his chair. The royal command was laid upon him 
'* to sit still and be a good fellow." Moreover, the door 
was locked — so that there was no escape or retreat. 

The next morning when he wakened with an aching 
head, he recollected with disgust the figure of Father Jos, 
and all the noisy mirth of the preceding night. Not 
without some self-contempt, he asked himself what had 
become of his resolution. 

" The wounded boy was axing for you. Master Harry," 
said the girl, who came in to open the shutters. 



GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 26 1 

" How is he ? " cried Harry, starting up. 

** He is but soberly, he got the night but middHng ; he 
concaits he could not sleep becaase he did not get a sight 
of your honour afore he'd settle — I tell him 'tis the 
change of beds, which always hinders a body to sleep 
the first night." 

The sense of having totally forgotten the poor fellow — 
the contrast between this forgetfulness and the anxiety 
and contrition of the two preceding nights, actually 
surprised Ormond ; he could hardly believe that he was 
one and the same person. Then came excuses to himself : 
** Gratitude — common civiUty — the peremptoriness of 
King Corny — his passionate temper, when opposed 
on this tender point — the locked door — and two to one ; 
in short, there was an impossibility in the circumstances 
of doing otherwise than what he had done. But then 
the same impossibility — the same circumstances — might 
recur the next night, and the next, and so on ; the peremp- 
tory temper of King Corny was not likely to alter, 
and the moral obligation of gratitude would continue 
the same ; so that at nineteen was he to become, from 
complaisance, what his soul and body abhorred — an 
habitual drunkard ? And what would become of Lady 
\nnaly's interest in his fate or his improvement ? " 

The two questions were not of equal importance, but 
our hero was at this time far from having any just pro- 
portion in his reasoning ; it was well he reasoned at all. 
The argument as to the obligation of gratitude — the view 
he had taken of the never-ending nature of the evil, 
which must be the consequence of beginning with weak 
complaisance — above all, the feeling that he had so lost 
his reason as not only to forget Moriarty, but to have 
been again incapable of commanding his passions, if any- 



262 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

thing had occurred to cross his temper, determined 
Ormond to make a firm resistance on the next occasion 
that should occur ; it did occur the very next night. 
After a dinner given to his chief tenants and the genteel 
people of the islands — a dinner in honour and in intro- 
duction of his adopted son — King Corny gave a toast 
" to the Prince presumptive," as he now styled him — a 
bumper toast. Soon afterwards he detected daylight 
in Harry's glass, and cursing it properly, he insisted 
on flowing bowls and full glasses. " What ! are you 
Prince presumptuous ? " cried he, with a half angry 
and astonished look. " Would you resist and contradict 
your father and king at his own table after dinner ? 
Down with the glass ! " 

Farther and steady resistance changed the jesting tone 
and half angry look of King Corny into sullen silence, 
and a black portentous brow of serious displeasure. 
After a decent time of sitting, the bottle passing him 
without farther importunity, Ormond rose — it was a 
hard struggle ; for in the face of his benefactor he saw 
reproach and rage bursting from every feature ; still 
he moved on towards the door. He heard the words 
" sneaking off sober ! — let him sneak ! '' 

Ormond had his hand on the lock of the door—it 
was a bad lock, and opened with difficulty. 

** There's gratitude for you ! No heart, after all — I 
mistook him." 

Ormond turned back, and firmly standing and firmly 
speaking, he said, *' You did not mistake me formerly, 
sir ; but you mistake me now ! — Sneaking ! — Is there 
any man here, sober or drunk," continued he, impetuously 
approaching the table and looking round full in every 
face — *' is there any man here dares to say so but your- 



GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 263 

self ? — You, you, my benefactor, my friend ; you have 
said it — think it you did not — you could not, but say it 
you may — You may say what you will to Harry Ormond, 
bound to you as he is — bound hand and foot and heart ! — 
Trample on him as you will — you may. No heart ! 
Oblige me, gentlemen, some of you," cried he, his anger 
rising and his eyes kindling as he spoke, ** some of you 
gentlemen, if any of you think so, oblige me by saying so. 
No gratitude, sir ! " turning from them, and addressing 
himself to the old man, who held an untasted glass of 
claret as he listened — " No gratitude ! Have not I ? — 
Try me, try me to the death — you have tried me to the 
quick of the heart, and I have borne it." 

He could bear it no longer ; he threw himself into the 
vacant chair, flung out his arms on the table, and laying 
his face down upon them, wept aloud. Cornelius 
O'Shane pushed the wine away. " I've wronged the boy 
grievously," said he ; and forgetting the gout, he rose 
from his chair, hobbled to him, and leaning over him, 
" Harry, 'tis I — ^look up, my own boy, and say you forgive 
me, or Til never forgive myself. That's well," con- 
tinued he, as Harry looked up and gave him his hand ; 
" that's well ! — you've taken the twinge out of my heart 
worse than the gout ; not a drop of gall or malice in your 
nature, nor ever was, more than in the child unborn. 
But see, Fll tell you what you'll do now, Harry, to settle 
all things — and lest the fit should take me ever to be mad 
with you on this score again. You don't choose to drink 
more than's becoming ? — Well, you're right, and I'm 
wrong. 'Twould be a burning shame of me to make 
of you what I have made of myself. We must do only 
as well as we can. But I will ensure you against the 
future ; and before we take another glass — there's the 



264 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

priest — and you, Tom Ferrally there, step you for my 
swearing book. Harry Ormond, you shall take an oath 
against drinking more glasses than you please evermore, 
and then you're safe from me. But stay — you are a 
heretic. Phoo ! what am I saying ? — 'twas seeing the 
priest put that word heretic in my head — you're not a 
cathoHc, I mean. But an oath's an oath, taken before 
priest or parson — an oath, taken how you will, will 
operate. But stay, to make all easy, 'tis I'll take it." 

" Against drinking, you ! King Corny ! " said Father 
Jos, stopping his hand, '* and in case of the gout in your 
stomach ? " 

" Against drinking ! do you think I'd perjure myself ? 
No ! But against pressing him to it — I'll take my oath 
I'll never ask him to drink another glass more than he 
likes." 

The oath was taken, and King Corny concluded the 
ceremony by observing that, after all, there was no 
character he despised more than that of a sot. But every 
gentleman knew that there was a wide and material 
difference betwixt a gentleman who was fond of his bottle 
and that unfortunate being, an habitual drunkard. For 
his own part, it was his established rule never to go to 
bed without a proper quantity of liquor under his belt ; 
but he defied the universe to say he was ever known to be 
drunk. 

At a court where such ingenious casuistry prevailed, 
it was happy for our hero that an unqualifying oath now 
protected his resolution. 



KING CORNY. 265 



KING CORNY. 



In the middle of the night our hero was wakened by a 
loud bellowing. It was only King Corny in a paroxysm 
of the gout. His majesty was naturally of a very im- 
patient temper, and his maxims of philosophy encouraged 
him to the most unrestrained expression of his feelings — 
the maxims of his philosophy — ^for he had read, though in 
most desuhory manner, and he had thought often deeply 
and not seldom justly. The turns of his mind, and 
the questions he asked, were sometimes utterly un- 
expected. " Pray, now," said he to Harry, who 
stood beside his bed, " now that IVe a moment's ease — ! 
did you ever hear of the Stoics that the bookmen talk of ? 
and can you tell me what good any one of them ever got 
by making it a point to make no noise, when they'd be 
punished and racked with pains of body or mind ? Why, 
I will tell you all they got — all they got was no pity ; 
who would give them pity that did not require it ? I 
could bleed to death in a bath, as well as the best of them, 
if I chose it ; or chew a bullet if I set my teeth to it, 
with any man in a regiment — but where's the use ? 
Nature knows best, and she says roar ! '* And he roared 
— ^for another twinge seized him. i 

Nature said sleep ! several times this night to Harry, 
and to everybody in the palace ; but they did not sleep,' 
they could not, while the roaring continued ; so all had 
reason to rejoice, and Moriarty in particular, when his 
majesty's paroxysm was past. Harry was in a sound 
sleep at twelve o'clock the next day, when he was sum-; 
moned into the royal presence. He found King Corny 



266 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

sitting at ease in his bed, and that bed strewed over with 
a variety of roots and leaves, weeds and plants. An old 
woman was hovering over the fire, stirring something in a 
black kettle. '' Simples these — of wonderful unknown 
power,'' said King Corny to Harry, as he approached 
the bed ; ** and Til engage you don't know the name even 
of the half of them. " 

Harry confessed his ignorance. 

" No shame for you — was you as wise as King Solomon 
himself, you might not know them, for he did not, nor 
couldn't, he that had never set his foot a grousing on an 
Irish bog. Sheelah, come you over, and say what's this?" 

The old woman now came to assist at this bed of botany, 
and with spectacles slipping off, and pushed on her nose 
continually, peered over each green thing, and named in 
Irish ** every herb that sips the dew." 

Sheelah was deeper in Irish lore than King Corny 
could pretend to be ; but then he humbled her with the 
" black hellebore of the ancients," and he had, in an 
unaccountable manner, affected her imagination by 
talking of " that famous bowl of narcotic poisons which 
that great man Socrates drank off." Sheelah would 
interrupt herself in the middle of a sentence, and curtsy 
if she heard him pronounce the name of Socrates — and at 
the mention of the bowl, she would regularly sigh, and 
exclaim, ** Lord, save us ! — But that was a vv^icked bowl." 

Then after a cast of her eyes up to heaven, ^ind crossing 
herself on the forehead, she would take up her disccurse 
at the word where she had left off. 

King Corny set to work compounding plasters and 
embrocations, preparing all sorts of decoctions of roots 
and leaves, famous through the coujitry. And while he 
directed and gesticulated from his bed, the old woman 



KING CORNY. 267 

worked over the fire in obedience to his commands ; 
sometimes, however, not with that *' prompt and mute 
obedience " which the great require. 

It was fortunate for Moriarty that King Corny, not 
having the use of his nether Hmbs, could not attend 
even in his gouty chair to administer the medicines he 
had made, and to see them fairly swallowed. Sheelah, 
Vv^hose conscience was easy on this point, contented her- 
self with giving him a strict charge to ** take every bottle 
to the last drop." All she insisted upon for her own part 
was, that she must tie the charm round his neck and arm. 
She would fain have removed the dressings of the wound 
to substitute plasters of her own, over which she had 
pronounced certain prayers or incantations ; but 
Moriarty, who had seized and held fast one good principle 
of surgery, that the air must never be let into the wound, 
held mainly to this maxim, and all Sheelah could obtain 
was permission to clap on her charmed plaster over the 
dressing. 

In due time, or, as King Corny triumphantly observed, 
in " a wonderful short period," Moriarty got quite well, 
long before the king's gout was cured, even with the 
assistance of the black hellebore of the ancients. King 
Corny was so well pleased with his patient for doing 
such credit to his medical skill, that he gave him and his 
family a cabin, and spot of land, in the islands — a cabin 
near the palace ; and at Harry's request made him 
his wood-ranger and his gamekeeper — the one a lucrative 
place, the other a sinecure. 

Master Harry — Prince Harry — was now looked up 
to as a person all-powerful with the master ; and petitions 
and requests to speak for them, to speak just one word, 
came pouring from all sides ; but, however enviable 



268 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

his situation as favourite and prince presumptive might 
appear to others, it was not in all respects comfortable 
to himself. 

Formerly, when a boy, in his visits to the Black Islands, 
he used to have a little companion of whom he was fond — 
Dora — King Corny's daughter. Missing her much, 
he inquired from her father where she was gone, and 
when she was likely to return. 

** She is gone off to the continent — to the continent of 
Ireland, that is ; but not banished for any misdemeanour. 
You know,*' said King Corny, " *tis generally considered 
as a punishment in the Black Islands to be banished to 
Ireland. A threat of that kind I find sufficient to bring 
the most refractory and ill-disposed of my subjects, 
if I had any of that description, to rason in the last resort ; 
but to that ultimate law I have not recourse, except 
in extreme cases ; I understand my business of king too 
well to wear out either shame or fear ; but you are no 
legislator yet. Prince Harry. So what was you asking 
me about Dora ? She is only gone a trip to the continent, 
to her aunt's, by the mother's side, Miss O'Faley, that 
you never saw, to get the advantage of a dancing-master, 
which myself don't think she wants — a natural carriage, 
with native graces, being, in my unsophisticated opinion, 
worth all the dancing-master's positions, contortions, or 
drillings ; but her aunt's of a contrary opinion, and the 
women say it is essential. So let 'em put Dora in the 
stocks, and punish her as they will, she'll be the gladder 
to get free, and fly back from their continent to her 
own Black Islands, and to you and me — that is, to me — 
I ax your pardon, Harry Ormond ; for you know, or 
I should tell you in time, she is engaged already to 
White Connal, of Glynn — from her birth. That engage- 



KING CORNY. 269 

ment I made with the father over a bowl of punch — I 
promised — Fm afraid it was a fooHsh business — I pro- 
mised if ever he, Old Connal, should have a son, and I 
should have a daughter, his son should marry my 
daughter. I promised, I say — I took my oath ; and then 
Mrs. Connal that was, had, shortly after, not one son, 
but two — and twins they were ; and I had — unluckily — 
ten years after, the daughter, which is Dora — and then 
as she could not marry both, the one twin was to be 
fixed on for her, and that was him they call White Connal 
— so there it was. Well, it was altogether a rash act ! 
So you'll consider her as a married woman, though she 
is but a child — it was a rash act, between you and I — 
for Connal's not grown up a likely lad for the girl to fancy ; 
but that's neither here nor there ; no, my word is passed 
— when half drunk, maybe — but no matter — it must be 
kept sober — drunk or sober, a gentleman must keep his 
word — d fortiori a king — a fortiori King Corny. See ! 
was there this minute no such thing as parchment, deed, 
stamp, signature, or seal in the wide world, when once 
Corny has squeezed a friend's hand on a bargain, or a 
promise, 'tis fast, was it ever so much against me — 'tis 
as strong to me as if I had squeezed all the lawyer's wax 
in the creation upon it." 

Ormond admired the honourable sentiment ; but was 
sorry there was any occasion for it — ^and he sighed ; 
but it was a sigh of pity for Dora ; not that he had ever 
seen White Connal or known anything of him — but 
White Connal did not sound well ; and her father's 
avowal, that it had been a rash engagement, did not 
seem to promise happiness to Dora in this marriage. 
' From the time he had been a boy, Harry Ormond had 
been in the habit of ferrying over to the Black Islands 



270 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

whenever Sir Ulick could spare him. The hunting 
and shooting, and the Hfe of lawless freedom he led on the 
islands, had been delightful. King Corny, who had the 
command not only of boats, and of guns, and of fishing- 
tackle, and of men, but of carpenters' tools, and of smiths' 
tools, and of a lathe, and of brass and ivory, and of all 
the things that the heart of boy could desire, had appeared 
to Harry, when he was a boy, the richest, the greatest, 
the happiest of men — the cleverest, too — the most 
ingenious ; for King Corny had with his own hands 
made a violin and a rat-trap ; and had made the best coat, 
and the best pair of shoes, and the best pair of boots, 
and the best hat ; and had knit the best pair of stockings, 
and had made the best dunghill in his dominions ; and 
had made a quarter of a yard of fine lace, and had painted 
a panorama. No wonder that King Corny had been 
looked up to, by the imagination of childhood, as " a 
personage high as human veneration could look." 

But now, although our hero was still but a boy in many 
respects, yet in consequence of his slight commerce with 
the world, he had formed some comparisons, and made 
some reflections. He had heard, accidentally, the 
conversation of a few people of common sense, besides 
the sly, witty, and satirical remarks of Sir Ulick, upon 
cousin Cornelms ; and it had occurred to Harry to question 
the utility and real grandeur of some of those things 
which had struck his childish imagination. For example, 
he began to doubt whether it were worthy of a king or 
a gentleman to be his own shoemaker, hatter, and tailor ; 
whether it were not better managed in society, where 
these things are performed by different tradesmen ; still 
the things were wonderful, considering who made them, 
and under what disadvantages they were made ; but 



KING CORNY. 27I 

Harry having now seen and compared Corny's violin 
with other violins, and having discovered that so much 
better could be had for money, with so much less trouble, 
his admiration had a little decreased, There were other 
points relative to external appearance on which his 
eyes had been opened. In his boyish days, King Corny, 
going out to hunt with hounds and horn, followed with 
shouts by all who could ride, and all who could run, 
King Corny hallooing the dogs, and cheering the crowd, 
appeared to him the greatest, the happiest of mankind. 

But he had since seen hunts in a very different style, 
and he could no longer admire the rabble rout. 

Human creatures, especially young human creatures, 
are apt to swing suddenly from one extreme to the other, 
and utterly to despise that which they had extravagantly 
admired. From this propensity, Ormond was in the 
present instance guarded by affection and gratitude. 
Through all the folly of his kingship, he saw that CorneHus 
O'Shane was not a person to be despised. He was indeed a 
man of great natural powers, both of body and mind — of 
inventive genius, energy, and perseverance, which 
might have attained the greatest objects ; though from 
insufficient knowledge, and self-sufficient perversity, 
they had wasted themselves on absurd or trivial purposes. 

There was a strong contrast between the characters 
of Sir UHck and his cousin Cornelius O'Shane. They 
disUked and despised each other ; differing as far in 
natural disposition as the subtle and the bold, their 
whole course through life, and the habits contracted 
during their progress, had widened the original difference. 

The one living in the world, and mixing continually 
with men of all ranks and character, had, by bending 
easily, and being all things to all men, won his courtier- 



272 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

way onwards and upwards to the possession of a seat 
in parliament, and the prospect of a peerage. 

The other, inhabiting a remote island, secluded from all 
men but those over whom he reigned, caring for no 
earthly consideration, and for no human opinion but his 
own, had, /or himself and hy himself, hewed out his way 
to his own objects, and then rested, satisfied — 

** I<ord of himself, and all his {HUle) world his own." 



SIR ULICK AT THE BLACK ISLANDS. 

One morning, when Harry Ormond was out shooting, 
and King Corny, who had recovered tolerably from the 
gout, was reinstated in his arm-chair in the parlour, 
listening to Father Jos reading ** The DubUn Evening 
Post," a gossoon, one of the runners of the castle, opened 
the door, and putting in his curly red head and bare feet, 
announced, in all haste^ that he ''just seen Sir Ulick 
O 'Shane in the boat, crossing the lake for the Black 
Islands.'' 

** Well, breathless blockhead ! and what of that ? " 
said King Corny — ** did you never see a man in a boat 
before ? " 

" I did, plase your honour." 

** Then what is there extraordinary ? " 

** Nothing at all, plase your honour, only — thought 
your honour might like to know." 

** Then you thought wrong, for I neither like it, nor 
mislike it. I don't care a rush about the matter — so 
take yourself down stairs." 



SIR ULICK O SHANE AT THE BLACK ISLANDS. 273 

** 'Tis a long time," said the priest, as the gossoon 
closed the door after him, '* 'tis a longer time than he 
ought, since Sir Ulick O 'Shane paid his respects here, 
even in the shape of a morning visit." 

" Morning visit ! " repeated Mrs. Betty Dunshaughlin, 
the housekeeper, who entered the room, for she was a 
privileged person, and had les grandes et les petites entrees 
in this palace — ** Morning visit ! — are you sure, Father 
Jos — are you clear he isn't come intending to stay 
for dinner ? " 

** What in the devil's name, Betty, does it signify ? " 
said the king. 

** About the dinner ! " 

'' What about it ? " said Corny, proudly ; " whether 
he comes, stays, or goes, I'll not have a scrap, or an iota 
of it changed," added he in a despotic tone. 

" Wheugh ! " said Betty, " one would not like to have 
a dinner of scraps — for there's nothing else to-day for 
him." 

** Then if there is nothing else, there can be nothing 
else," said the priest, very philosophically. 

** But when strangers come to dine, one would make 
a bit of an exertion, if one could," said Betty. 

" It's his own fault to be a stranger," said Father Jos, 
watching his majesty's clouding countenance ; then 
whispering to Betty, ** that was a faulty string you 
touched upon, Mrs. Betty ; and can't you make out your 
dinner without saying anything ? " 

** A person may speak in this house, I suppose, besides 
the clergy, Father Jos," said Mrs. Betty, under her 
breath. 

Then looking out of the window, she added, '' He's 
half-way over the lake, and he'll make his own apologies 



274 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

good, I'll engage, when he comes in ; for he knows how 
to speak for himself as well as any gentleman — and I 
don't doubt but he'll get my Mickey made an exciseman 
as he promised to ; and sure he has a good right. Isn't 
he a cousin of King Corny's ? wherefore, I'd wish to 
have all things proper. So I'll step out and kill a couple 
of chickens — won't I ? " 

** Kill what you please," said King Corny ; " but, 
without my warrant, nothing killed or unkilled shall 
come up to table this day — and that's enough. No more 
reasoning — quit the subject and the room, Betty." 

Betty quitted the room ; but every stair, as she de- 
scended to the kitchen, could bear witness that she 
did not quit the subject ; and for an hour afterwards 
she reasoned against the obstinacy and folly of man, 
and the chorus in the kitchen moralized, in conformity 
and commiseration — in vain. 

Meantime Father Jos, though he regretted the exer- 
tions which Mrs. Betty might discreetly have made in 
favour of a good dinner, was by no means, as he declared, 
a friend or fauterer of Sir Ulick O'Shane — how could he, 
when Sir Ulick had recanted ? — The priest looked with 
horror upon the apostasy — the King with contempt 
upon the desertion of his party. ** Was he sincere 
anyway, I'd honour him," said Cornelius, " or forgive 
him ; but, not to be ripping up old grievances when 
there's no occasion, I can't forgive the way he is at this 
present double-dealing with poor Harry Ormond — 
cajoling the grateful heart, and shirking the orphan boy 
that he took upon him to patronise. Why there I 
thought nobly of him, and forgave him all his sins, 
for the generous protection he afforded the son of his 
friend." 



SIR ULICK O 'SHANE AT THE BLACK ISLANDS. 275 

** Had Captain Ormond, the father, no fortune ? " 
asked the priest. 

" Only a trifle of three hundred a year, and no provision 
for the education or maintenance of the boy. UUck's 
fondness for him, more than all, showed him capable 
of the disinterested touch ! but then to belie his own 
heart — to abandon him he bred a favourite, just when 
the boy wants him most — Oh ! how could he ? And 
all for what ? To please the wife he hates ; that can't 
be — that's only the ostensible — but what the raal rason 
is I can't guess. No matter — he'll soon tell us." 

" Tell us ! Oh ! no/' said the priest, " he'll keep 
his own secret." 

" He'll let out, I'll engage, trying to hide it," said 
Corny ; ** like all cunning people, he woodcocks — hides 
his head, and forgets his body can be seen. But hark ! 
he is coming up. Tommy ! " said he, turning to a little 
boy of five years old, Sheelah's grandchild, who was 
playing about in the room, " hand me that whistle you're 
whisthng with, till I see what's the matter with it for you." 

King Corny seemed lost in examination of the whistle 
when Sir Ulick entered the room ; and after receiving 
and seating him with proud courtesy, he again returned 
to the charge, blowing through the whistle, earnestly 
dividing his observation between Sir Ulick and little 
Tommy, and asking questions, by turns, about the 
whistle, and about all at Castle Hermitage. 

" Where's my boy ? Where's Harry Ormond ? " 
was the first leading question Sir Ulick asked. 

" Harry Ormond's out shooting, I believe, somewhere 
or somehow, taking his pleasure, as I hope he will long, 
and always as long as he likes it, at the Black Islands ; 
at least as long as I live." 



276 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Sir Ulick branched off into hopes of his cousin Cor- 
nehus's Hving long, very long ; and in general terms, 
that were intended to avoid committing himself, or 
pinning himself to anything, he protested that he must 
not be robbed of his boy, that he had always, with good 
reason, been jealous of Harry's affection for King Corny, 
and that he could not consent to let his term of stay at the 
Black Islands be either as long as Harry himself should 
Hke, or during what he hoped would be the life of his 
cousin, Cornelius O'Shane. 

" There's something wrong, still, in this whistle. 
Why, if you loved him so, did you let him go when you 
had him ? " said Corny. 

" He thought it necessary, for domestic reasons," 
repHed Sir Ulick. 

** Continental policy, that is ; what I never understood, 
nor never shall," said Corny. " But I don't inquire 
any farther. If you are satisfied with yourself, we are 
all satisfied, I believe." 

" Pardon me, I cannot be satisfied without seeing 
Harry this morning, for I've a little business with him — 
will you have the goodness to send for him ? " 

Father Jos, who, from the window, saw Harry's dog 
snuffing along the path to the wood, thought he could 
not be far from the house, and went to make inquiries ; 
and now when Sir UHck and King Corny were left alone 
together, a dialogue — a sort of single combat, without 
any object but to try each other's powers and temper — 
ensued between them ; in which the one on the offensive 
came on with a tomahawk, and the other stood on the 
defensive parrying with a polished blade of Damascus ; 
and sometimes, when the adversary was off his guard, 
making a sly cut at an exposed part. 



SIR ULICK O'SHANE AT THE BLACK ISLANDS. 277 

'* What are you so busy about ? '' said Sir Ulick. 

" Mending the child's toy," said Cornelius. " A 
man must be doing something in this world." 

'* But a man of your ingenuity ! 'tis a pity it should be 
wasted, as I have often said, upon mere toys." 

" Toys of one sort or other we are all taken up with 
through life, from the cradle to the grave. By-the-bye, 
I give you joy of your baronetage. I hope they did not 
make you pay, now, too much in conscience for that 
poor tag of nobility." 

" These things are not always matters of bargain and 
sale — mine was quite an unsolicited honour, a mark of 
approbation and acceptance of my poor services, and as 
such, gratifying ; — as to the rest, believe me, it was not, 
if I must use so coarse an expression, paid for." 

" Not paid for — what, then, it's owing for ? To be 
paid for, still ? Well, that's too hard, after all you've 
done for them. But some men have no manner of 
conscience. At least, I hope you paid the fees." 

" The fees, of course — but we shall never understand 
one another," said Sir Ulick. 

" Now, what will be the next title or string you look 
forward to, Ulysses, may I ask ? Is it to be Baron 
Castle Hermitage, or to get a riband, or a garter, or a 
thistle, or what ? — A thistle ! What asses some men 
are ! " 

What savages some men are, thought Sir Ulick ; he 
walked to the window, and, looking out, hoped that 
Harry Ormond would soon make his appearance. ** You 
are doing, or undoing, a great deal here, cousin Cornelius, 
I see, as usual." 

" Yes, but what I am doing, stand or fall, will never 
be my undoing — I am no speculator. How do your 



278 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

silver mines go on, Sir Ulick ? I hear all the silver 
mines in Ireland turn out to be lead." 

'* I wish they did," said Sir Ulick, *' for then we could 
turn all our lead to gold. Those silver mines certainly 
did not pay — I've a notion you found the same with your 
reclaimed bog here, cousin Cornelius — I understand 
that after a short time it relapses, and is worse than ever, 
like most things pretending to be reclaimed." 

** Speak for yourself, there. Sir UUck," said Cornelius ; 
*^ you ought to know certainly, for, some thirty years ago, 
I think you pretended to be a reclaimed rake." 

'' I don't remember it," said Sir Ulick. 

** I do, and so would poor Emmy Annaly, if she was 
alive, which it's fortunate for her she is not (broken- 
hearted angel, if ever there was one, by wedlock ! and 
the only one of the Annalys I ever liked)," said Cornelius 
to himself, in a low leisurely voice of soliloquy. Then 
resuming his conversation tone, and continuing his speech 
to Sir Ulick, *' I say you pretended thirty years ago, I 
remember, to be a reformed rake, and looked mighty 
smooth and plausible — and promised fair that the im- 
provement w^as solid, and was to last for ever and a day. 
But six months after marriage comes a relapse, and the 
reclaimed rake's worse than ever. Well, to be sure, 
that's in favour of your opinion against all things pretend- 
ing to be reclaimed. But see, my poor bog, without 
promising so well, performs better ; for it's six years, 
instead of six months, that I've seen no tendency to 
relapse. See, the cattle upon it speak for themselves ; 
honest calf won't lie for any man." 

" I give you joy of the success of your improvements. 
I admire, too, your ploughing team and ploughing 
tackle," said Sir Ulick, with an ironical smile. '* You 



SIR ULICK O'SHANE AT THE BLACK ISLANDS. 279 

don't go into any indiscreet expense for farming imple- 
ments or prize cattle." 

" No," said Cornelius, '' I don't prize the prize cattle ; 
the best prize a man can get, and the only one worth 
having, is that which he must give himself, or not get, 
and of which he is the best judge at all sasons." 

** What prize, may I ask ? " 

** You may ask, and I'll answer — the prize of success ; 
and, success to myself, I have it." 

** And succeeding in all your ends by such noble 
means must be doubly gratifying — and is doubly com- 
mendable and surprising," said Sir Ulick. 

" May I ask — for it's my turn now to play ignoramus — 
may I ask, what noble means excites this gratuitous 
commendation and surprise ? " 

" I commend, in the first place, the economy of your 
ploughing tackle — hay ropes, hay traces, and hay halters 
— doubly useful and convenient for harness and food." 

Corny repHed, " Some people I know, think the most 
expensive harness and tackle, and the most expensive 
ways of doing everything, the best ; but I don't know 
if that is the way for the poor to grow rich — it may be 
the way for the rich to grow poor ; we are all poor people 
in the Black Islands, and I can't afford, or think it good 
policy, to give the example of extravagant new ways 
of doing old things." 

** 'Tis a pity you don't continue the old Irish style of 
ploughing by the tail," said Sir Ulick. 

" That is against humanity to brute bastes, which, 
without any sickening palaver of sentiment, I practise. 
Also, it's against an Act of ParHament, which I regard 
sometimes — that is, when I understand them ; which, 
the way you parliament gentlemen draw them up, is 



28o MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

not always particularly intelligible to plain common 
sense ; and I have no lawyers here, thank Heaven ! 
to consult ; I am forced to be legislator, and lawyer, 
and ploughman, and all, you see, the best I can for my- 
self." 

He opened the window, and called to give some orders 
to the man, or, as he called him, the boy — a boy of sixty — 
who was ploughing. 

** Your team, I see, is worthy of your tackle," pursued 
Sir Ulick — ** a mule, a bull, and two lean horses. I pity 
the foremost poor devil of a horse, who must starve in 
the midst of plenty, while the horse, bull, and even mule, 
in a string behind him, are all plucking and munging 
away at their hay ropes." 

Cornelius joined in Sir Ulick's laugh, which shortened 
its duration. 

" 'Tis comical ploughing, I grant," said he, " but still, 
to my fancy, anything's better and more profitable nor 
the tragi-comic ploughing you practise every season in 
Dublin." 

** I ? " said Sir Ulick. 

'* Ay, you and all your courtiers, ploughing the half 
acre* continually, pacing up and down that Castle-yard, 
while you're waiting in attendance there. Everyone 
to his taste, but — 

* If there's a man on earth I hate. 
Attendance and dependence be his fate.' " 

" After all, I have very good prospects in life/' said 
Sir UHck. 

"Ay, youVe been always Hving on prospects ; for 

* Ploughing the half acre. The English reader will please to inquire 
the meaning of this phrase from any Irish courtier. 



SIR ULICK O'SHANE AT THE BLACK ISLANDS. 28 1 

my part, Fd rather have a mole-hill in possession than a 
mountain in prospect." 

" Cornelius, what are you doing here to the roof of 
your house ? " said Sir Ulick, striking off to another 
subject. ** What a vast deal of work you do contrive 
to cut out for yourself." 

" I'd rather cut it out for myself than have anybody 
to cut it out for me," said Cornelius. 

" Upon my word, this will require all your extraor- 
dinary ingenuity, cousin." 

" Oh, rU engage I'll make a good job of it, in my sense 
of the word, though not in yours ; for I know, in your 
vocabulary, that's only a good job where you pocket 
money and do nothing ; now, my good jobs never bring 
me in a farthing, and give me a great deal to do into the 
bargain." 

** I don't envy you such jobs, indeed," said Sir Ulick ; 
**and are you sure that at last you make them good 
jobs in any acceptation of the term } " 

" Sure ! a man's never sure of anything in this world, 
but of being abused. But one comfort, my own con- 
science, for which I've a trifling respect, can't reproach 
me ; since my jobs, good or bad, have cost my poor 
country nothing." 

On this point Sir Ulick was particularly sore, for he 
had the character of being one of the greatest jobbers 
in Ireland. With a face of much political prudery, 
which he well knew how to assume, he began to exculpate 
himself. He confessed that much public money had 
passed through his hands ; but he protested that none 
of it had stayed with him. No man, who had done so 
much for different administrations, had been so ill 
paid. 



282 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" Why the deuce do you work for them, then ? You 
won't tell me it's for love. Have you got any character 
by it ? — if you haven't profit, what have you ? I would 
not let them make me a dupe, or maybe something worse, 
if I was you," said Cornelius, looking him full in the 
face. 

" Savage ! " said Ulick again to himself. The toma- 
hawk was too much for him — Sir Ulick felt that it was 
fearful odds to stand fencing according to rule with one 
who would not scruple to gouge or scalp, if provoked. 
Sir Ulick now stood silent, smiling forced smiles, and 
looking on while Cornelius played quite at his ease with 
little Tommy, blew shrill blasts through the whistle, 
and boasted that he had made a good job of that whistle 
anyway. 

Harry Ormond, to Sir UUck's great relief, now ap- 
peared. Sir Ulick advanced to meet him with an air 
of cordial friendship which brought the honest flush 
of pleasure and gratitude into the young man's face, 
who darted a quick look at Cornelius, as much as to say, 
'' You see you were wrong — he is glad to see me — 
he is come to see me." 

Harry, who had been reading " Tom Jones," had plunged into a 
flirtation with Peggy Sheridan, the pretty and innoceirt daughter 
of Comy's gardener, until he found, before any harm was done, 
that Moriarty O'Carroll was deeply in love with her. He apologised 
for his conduct, and used his influence to bring about their wedding. 



MADEMOISELLE o'fALEY AND DORA. 283 



MADEMOISELLE O'FALEY AND DORA. 

Dora's aunt, an aunt by the mother's side, a maiden 
aunt, who had never before been at the Black Islands, 
and whom Ormond had never seen, was to accompany 
Dora on her return to Corny Castle ; our young hero 
had settled it in his head that this aunt must be something 
like Aunt EUenor in Sir Charles Grandison ; a stiff- 
backed, prim, precise, old-fashioned looking aunt. 
Never was man's astonishment more visible in his coun- 
tenance than was that of Harry Ormond on the first 
sight of Dora's aunt. His surprise was so great as to 
preclude the sight of Dora herself. 

There was nothing surprising in the lady, but there 
was, indeed, an extraordinary difference between our 
hero's preconceived notion and the real person whom he 
now beheld. Mademoiselle — as Miss O'Faley was called, 
in honour of her French parentage and education, and in 
commemoration of her having at different periods spent 
above half her life in France, looking for an estate that 
could never be found — Mademoiselle was dressed in 
all the peculiarities of the French dress of that day ; she 
was of that indefinable age which the French describe 
by the happy phrase of '' une femme d'un certain age^' 
and which Miss O'Faley happily translated, " a woman 
of no particular age.'' Yet, though of no particular age 
in the eye of poHteness, to the vulgar eye she looked 
like what people, who knew no better, might call an 
elderly woman ; but she was as alert and lively as a girl 
of fifteen ; a little wrinkled, but withal in fine preserva- 
tion. She wore abundance of rouge, obviously — still 



284 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

more obviously took superabundance of snuff — and, with- 
out any obvious motive, continued to play unremittingly 
a pair of large black French eyes, in a manner impracti- 
cable to a mere Englishwoman, and which almost tempted 
the spectator to beg she would let them rest. Madem- 
oiselle or Miss OTaley was, in fact, half French and 
half Irish — born in France, she was the daughter of an 
officer of the Irish brigade and of a French lady of good 
family. In her gestures, tones and language, there was 
a striking mixture or rapid succession of French and 
Irish. When she spoke French, which she spoke well, 
and with a true Parisian accent, her voice, gestures, air, 
and ideas were all French ; and she looked and moved 
a well-born, well-bred woman ; the moment she 
attempted to speak English, which she spoke with an 
inveterate brogue, her ideas, manner, air, voice, and 
gestures were Irish ; she looked and moved a vulgar 
Irishwoman. 

" What do you see so wonderful in Aunt OTaley ? '' 
said Dora. 

" Nothing— only " 

The sentence was never finished, and the young lady 
was satisfied ; for she perceived that the course of his 
thoughts was interrupted, and all idea of her aunt effaced, 
the moment he turned his eyes upon herself. Dora, 
no longer a child and his playfellow, but grown and 
formed, was, and looked as if she expected to be treated 
as, a woman. She was exceedingly pretty, not regularly 
handsome, but with most brilliant eyes — there was 
besides a childishness in her face, and in her slight 
figure, which disarmed all criticism on her beauty, and 
which contrasted strikingly, yet as our hero thought agree- 
ably, with her womanish airs and manner. Nothing 



MADEMOISELLE o'FALEY AND DORA. 285 

but her external appearance could be seen this first 
evening — she was tired and went to bed early. 

Ormond longed to see more of her, on whom so much 
of his happiness was to depend. 

This was the first time Mdlle. OTaley had ever been 
at Corny Castle. Hospitality, as well as gratitude, 
determined the King of the Black Islands to pay her 
honour due. 

" Now, Harry Ormond," said he, ** I have made one 
capital good resolution. Here is my sister-in-law, 
Mdlle. OTaley, coming to reside with me here, and has 
conquered her antipathy to solitude and the Black Islands, 
and all from natural love and aflFection for my daughter 
Dora ; for which I have a respect for her, notwith- 
standing all her eternal jabbering about politesse^ and all 
her manifold absurdities, and infinite female vanities, of 
which she has a double proportion, being half French. 
But so was my wife, that I loved to distraction — for a 
wise man may do a foolish thing. Well, on all those 
accounts, I shall never contradict or gainsay this Madem- 
oiselle — in all things I shall make it my principle to give 
her her swing and her fling. But now observe me, Harry, 
I have no eye to her money — let her leave that to Dora 
or the cats, whichever pleases her — I am not looking 
to, nor squinting at, her succession. I am a great hunter, 
but not legacy-hunter — that is a kind of hunting I despise 
— and I wish every hunter of that kinc( may be thrown 
out, or thrown oflF, and may nevei* be in at the 
death ! " 

Corny's tirade against legacy-hunters was highly 
approved of by Ormond, but, as to the rest, he knew 
nothing about Miss OTaley 's fortune. He was now to 
learn that a rich relation of hers, a merchant in Dublin 



286 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

whom living she had despised, because he was " neither 
nohle nor comme il fauty^ dying, had lately left her a 
considerable sum of money ; so that after having been 
many years in straitened circumstances, she was now 
quite at her ease. She had a carriage, and horses, and 
servants ; she could indulge her taste for dress, and 
make a figure in a country place. 

The Black Islands were, to be sure, of all places, the 
most unpromising for her purpose, and the first sight of 
Corny Castle was enough to throw her into despair. 

As soon as breakfast was over, she begged her brother- 
in-law would show her the whole of the chateau from the 
top to the bottom. 

With all the pleasure in life, he said, he would attend 
her from the attics to the cellar, and show her all the 
additions, improvements, and contrivances he had made, 
and all he intended to make, if Heaven should lend him 
life to complete everything, or anything — there was 
nothing finished. 

" Nor ever will be," said Dora, looking from her 
father to her aunt with a sort of ironical smile. 

" Why, what has he been doing all this life ? " said 
Mademoiselle. 

" Making a shift'' said Dora ; " I will show you dozens 
of them as we go over this house. He calls them sub- 
stitutes — / call them make-shifts." 

Ormond followed as they went over the house ; and 
though he was sometimes amused by the smart remarks 
which Dora made behind backs as they went on, yet he 
thought she laughed too scornfully at her father's oddities ^ 
and he was often in pain for his good friend Corny. 

His majesty was both proud and ashamed of his palace ; 
proud of the various instances it exhibited of his taste, 



MADEMOISELLE O'PALEY AND DORA. 287 

originality, and daring ; ashamed of the deficiencies and 
want of comfort and finish. 

His ready wit had excuses, reasons, or remedies for all 
Mademoiselle's objections. Every alteration she pro- 
posed he promised to get executed, and he promised 
impossibiUties with the best faith imaginable. 

" As the Frenchman answered to the Queen of France," 
said Corny, ** if it is possible, it shall be done ; and if it 
is impossible, it must be done." 

Mademoiselle, who had expected to find her brother- 
in-law, as she owned, a little more difficult to manage, 
a little savage, and a little restive, was quite delighted 
with his politeness ; but presuming on his complaisance, 
she went too far. In the course of a week she made so 
many innovations, that Corny, seeing the labour and 
ingenuity of his life in danger of being at once destroyed, 
made a sudden stand. 

" This is Corny Castle, Mademoiselle," said he, 
" and you are making it Castle Topsy-Turvy, which 
must not be. Stop this work ; for FU have no more 
architectural innovations done here — but by my own 
orders. Paper and paint, and furnish and finish, you 
may, if you will — I give you a carte-blanche ; but I 
won't have another wall touched, or chimney pulled 
down ; so far shalt thou go, but no farther, Mdlle. 
O'Faley." Mademoiselle was forced to submit, and to 
confine her brilliant imagination to papering, painting, 
and glazing. 

Even in the course of these operations. King Corny 
became so impatient that she was forced to get them 
finished surreptitiously while he was out of the way 
in the mornings. 

She made out who resided at every place within 



288 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

possible reach of morning or dinner visit ; every house 
on the opposite banks of the lake was soon known to her, 
and she was current in every house. The boat was 
constantly rowing backwards and forwards over the lake ; 
cars waiting or driving on the banks ; in short, this sum- 
mer all was gaiety at the Black Islands. Miss O'Faley 
was said to be a great acquisition in the neighbourhood ; 
ehe was so gay, so sociable, so communicative ; and she 
certainly, above all, knew so much of the world ; she was 
continually receiving letters, and news, and patterns, 
from Dublin, and the Black Rock, and Paris. Each 
of which places, and all standing nearly upon the same 
level, made a great figure in her conversation, and in 
the imagination of the half or quarter gentry, with whom 
she consorted in this remote place. Everything is great 
or small by comparison, and she was a great person 
in this Httle world. It had been the report of the country 
that her niece was promised to the eldest son of Mr 
Connal, of Glynn ; but the aunt seemed so averse to the 
match, and expressed this so openly, that some people 
began to think it would be broken off ; others, who 
knew Cornelius O'Shane's steadiness to his word of 
honour^ were convinced that Miss OTaley would never 
shake King Corny, and that Dora would assuredly be 
Mrs. Connal. All agreed that it was a foolish promise — 
that he might do better for his daughter. Miss O'Shane, 
with her father's fortune and her aunt's, would be a great 
prize ; besides, she was thought quite a beauty, and 
remarkable elegant, 

Dora was just the thing to be the belle and coquette 
of the Black Islands ; the alternate scorn and familiarity 
with which she treated her admirers, and the interest 
and curiosity she excited, by sometimes taking delightful 



MADEMOISELLE o'fALEY AND DORA. 289 

pains to attract, and then capriciously repelling, succeeded^ 
as Miss OTaley observed, admirably. Harry Ormond 
accompanied her and her aunt on all their parties of 
pleasure ; Miss OTaley would never venture in the boat 
or across the lake without him. He was absolutely 
essential to their parties ; he was useful in the boat ; 
he was useful to drive the car — Miss OTaley would not 
trust anybody else to drive her ; he was an ornament 
to the ball — Miss OTaley dubbed him her beau ; she 
undertook to polish him, and to teach him to speak 
French — she was astonished by the quickness with which 
he acquired the language, and caught the true Parisian 
pronunciation. She often reiterated to her niece and 
to others, who repeated it to Ormond, '' that it was the 
greatest of pities he had but three hundred a year upon 
earth ; but that, even with that pittance she would prefer 
him for a nephew to another with his thousands. Mr. 
Ormond was well-born, and he had some politesse ; and 
a winter at Paris would make him quite another person, 
quite a charming young man. He would have great 
success, she could answer for it, in certain circles and 
salons that she could name, only it might turn his head 
too much." So far she said, and more she thought. 

It was a million of pities that such a woman as herself, 
and such a girl as Dora, and such a young man as Mr. 
Ormond might be made, should be buried all their days 
in the Black Islands. Mdlle. OTaley's heart still turned 
to Paris ; in Paris she was determined to live — there was 
no livingy what you call living, anywhere else — elsewhere 
people only vegetate, as somebody said. Miss OTaley, 
nevertheless, was excessively fond of her niece ; and how 
to make the love for her niece and the love for Paris 
coincide was the question. She long had formed a 



290 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

scheme of carrying her dear niece to Paris, and marrying 
her there to some M. le Baron or M. le Marquis ; but 
Dora's father would not hear of her Hving anywhere 
but in Ireland, or marrying anyone but an Irishman. 
Miss O'Faley had Hved long enough in Ireland to know 
that the usual method, in all disputes, is to split the 
difference ; therefore, she decided that her niece should 
marry some Irishman who would take her to Paris, and 
reside with her there, at least a great part of his time — ► 
the latter part of the bargain to be kept a secret from the 
father till the marriage should be accomplished. Harry 
Ormond appeared to be the very man for this purpose ; 
he seemed to hang loosely upon the world — no family 
connexions seemed to have any rights over him ; he had 
no profession — but a very small fortune. Miss O'Faley's 
fortune might be very convenient and Dora's person very 
agreeable to him ; and it was scarcely to be doubted that 
he would easily be persuaded to quit the Black Islands, 
and the British Islands, for Dora's sake. 

The petit menage was already quite arranged in Mdlle. 
O'Faley's head — even the wedding-dresses had floated in 
her fancy. 

" As to the promise givam to White Connal," as she said 
to herself, " it would be a mercy to save her niece from 
such a man ; for she had seen him lately, when he had 
called upon her in Dublin, and he was a vulgar person ; 
his hair looked as if it had not been cut these hundred 
years, and he wore — anything but what he should wear ; 
therefore, it would be a favour to her brother-in-law, 
for whom she had in reality a serious regard — it would 
be doing him the greatest imaginable benefit to save 
him from the shame of either keeping or breaking his 
ridiculous and savage promise." 



MADEMOISELLE O FALEY AND DORA. 29I 

Her plan was, therefore, to prevent the possibility of 
his keeping it, by marrying her niece privately to Ormond 
before White Connal should return in October. When 
the thing was done, and could not be undone, Cornelius 
O'Shane, she was persuaded, would be very glad of it, 
for Harry Ormond was his particular favourite ; he had 
called him his son — son-in-law was almost the same 
thing. Thus arguing with happy female casuistry, 
Mademoiselle went on with the prosecution of her plan. 
To the French spirit of intrigue and gallantry she joined 
Irish acuteness, and Irish varieties of odd resource, 
with the art of laying suspicion asleep by the appearance 
of an imprudent, blundering good nature ; add to all this 
a degree of confidence that could not have been acquired 
by any means but one. Thus accomplished, ** rarely 
did she manage matters." 

By the very boldness and openness of her railing 
against the intended bridegroom, she convinced her 
brother-in-law that she meant nothing more than talk. 
Besides, through all her changing varieties of objections, 
there was one point on which she never varied — she never 
objected to going to Dublin, in September, to buy the 
wedding-clothes for Dora. This seemed to Cornelius 
O' Shane perfect proof that she had no serious intention to 
break off or defer the match. As to the rest, he was glad 
to see his own Harry such a favourite ; he deserved to be a 
favourite with everybody, Cornelius thought. The 
young people were continually together. " So much the 
better," he would say ; '* all was above-board, and there 
could be no harm going forward, and no danger in life." 
All was above-board on Harry Ormond 's part ; he knew 
nothing of Miss OTaley's designs, nor did he as yet 
feel that there was for him much danger. He was not 



292 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

thinking as a lover of Dora in particular, but he felt a new 
and extraordinary desire to please in general. On every 
fair occasion he liked to show^ how well he could ride ; 
how well he could dance ; how gallant and agreeable he 
could be ; his whole attention was now turned to the 
cultivation of his personal accomplishments. He 
succeeded ; he danced, he rode to admiration — his glories 
of horsemanship, and sportsmanship, the birds that he 
shot, and the fish that he caught, and the leaps that he 
took, are to this hour recorded in the tradition of the 
inhabitants of the Black Islands. At the time, his 
feats of personal activity and address made him the theme 
of every tongue, the delight of every eye, the admiration 
of every woman, and the envy of every man ; not only 
with the damsels of Peggy Sheridan's class was he the 
favourite, but with all the young ladies, the belles of the 
half gentry, who filled the ball-rooms ; and who made the 
most distinguished figure in the riding, boating, walking, 
tea-drinking parties. To all, or any of these belles, 
he devoted his attention rather than to Dora, for he was 
upon honour ; and very honourable he was, and very 
prudent, moreover, he thought himself. He was, at 
present, quite content with general admiration ; there 
was, or there seemed, at this time, more danger for his 
head than his heart — more danger that his head should be 
turned with the foolish attentions paid him by many 
silly girls, than that he should be a dupe to a passion for 
any one of them ; there was imminent danger of his 
becoming a mere dancing, driving, country coxcomb. 



WHITE CONNAL 293 



WHITE CONNAL. 



One day when Harry Ormond was out shooting with 
Moriarty Carroll, Moriarty abruptly began with, " Why 
then, 'tis what I am thinking. Master Harry, that King 
Corny don't know as much of that White Connal as I do." 

*' What do you know of Mr. Connal ? '' said Harry, 
loading his piece. " I didn't know you had ever seen 
him." 

** Oh ! but I did, and no great sight to see. Unlike 
the father, old Connal, of Glynn, who is a gentleman 
to the last, every inch, even with the coat dropping off 
his back ; and the son, with the best coat in Christendom, 
has not the look of a gentleman at-all-at-all — ^nor hasn't 
it in him, inside no more than outside." 

** You may be mistaken there, as you have never 
been within-side of him, Moriarty," said Ormond. 

** Oh ! faith, and if I have not been within-side of him, 
I have heard enough from them that seen him turned 
inside out, hot and cold. Sure I went down there last 
summer, to his country, to see a shister of my own 
that's married in it ; and lives just by Connal's Town, 
as the man calls that sheep farm of his." 

** Well, let the gentleman call his own place what he 
will " 

*' Oh ! he may call it what he plases for me — I know 
what the country calls him ; and lest your honour should 
not ax me, I'll tell you : they call him White Connal, 
the negre ! — Think of him that would stand browbating 
the butcher an hour, to bate down the farthing a pound 
in the price of the worst bits of the mate, which he'd 



294 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

bespake always for the servants ; or stand, he would — 
Fve seen him with my own eyes — higgling with the 
poor child with the apron round the neck, that was sent 
to sell him the eggs " 

" Hush ! Moriarty," said Ormond, who did not wish 
to hear any farther particulars of Mr. Connal's domestic 
economy ; and he silenced Moriarty, by pointing to a 
bird. But the bird flew away, and Moriarty returned 
to his point. 

" I wouldn't be teUing the like of any jantleman, but 
to show the nature of him. The minute after he had 
screwed the half-penny out of the child, he'd throw down, 
maybe, fifty guineas in gould for the horse he'd fancy 
for his own riding ; not that he rides better than the 
sack going to the mill, nor so well ; but that he might 
have it to show, and say he was better mounted than any 
man at the fair ; and the same he'd throw away more 
guineas than I could tell at the head of a short-horned 
bull, or a long-horned bull, or some kind of a bull from 
England, maybe, just becaase he'd think nobody else 
had one of the breed in all Ireland but himself." 

" A very good thing, at least, for the country, to 
improve the breed of cattle." 

** The country ! — 'Tis Httle the man thinks of the 
country that never thought of anything but himself, 
since his mother sucked him." 

** Suckled him, you mean," said Harry. 

** No matter — I'm no spaker — but I know that man's 
character nevertheless ; he is rich ; but a very bad 
char<2Cter — the poor gives him up and down." 

** Perhaps, because he is rich." 

" Not at all ; the poor loves the rich that helps with the 
kind heart Don't we all love King Corny to the blacking 



WHITE CONNAL. 295 

of his shoes ? — Oh ! there's the difference ! — who could 
like the man that's always talking of the craturs, and yet, 
to save the life of the poorest cratur that's forced to live 
under him, wouldn't forbear to drive, and pound, and 
process, for the little con acre, the potato ridge, the cow's 
grass, or the trifle for the woman's peck of flax, was she 
dying, and sell the woman's last blanket ? — White 
Connal is a hard man, and takes all to the uttermost 
farthing the law allows." 

" Well, even so, I suppose the law does not allow him 
more than his due," said Ormond. 

" Oh ! begging your pardon. Master Harry," said 
Moriarty, '* that's becaase you are not a lawyer." 
" And are you," said Harry. 

" Only as we all are through the country. And now 
I'll only just tell you, Master Harry, how this White 
Connal sarved my shister's husband, who was an under- 
tenant to him : — see, the case was this " 

" Oh ! don't tell me a long case, for pity's sake. I am 
no lawyer — I shall not understand a word of it." 

" But then, sir, through the whole consarning White 
Connal, what I'm thinking of. Master Harry," said 
Moriarty, " is, I'm grieving that a daughter of our dear 
King Corny, and such a pretty likely girl as Miss Dora 



" Say no more, Moriarty, for there's a partridge." 

" Oh ! is it so with you ? " thought Moriarty— " that's 
just what I wanted to know — and I'll keep your secret ; 
I don't forget Peggy Sheridan — and his goodness." 

Moriarty said not a word more about White Connal 
or Miss Dora ; and he and Harry shot a great many birds 
this day. 

It is astonishing how quickly, and how justly, the lower 



296 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

class of people in Ireland discover and appreciate the 
characters of their superiors, especially of the class just 
above them in rank. 

Ormond hoped that Moriarty had been prejudiced in 
his account of White Connal, and that private feelings 
had induced him to exaggerate. Harry was persuaded 
of this, because Cornelius O 'Shane had spoken to him of 
Connal, and had never represented him to be a hard man. 
In fact, O 'Shane did not know him. White Connal 
had a property in a distant county, where he resided, 
and only came from time to time to see his father. 
O'Shane had then wondered to see the son grown so 
unlike the father ; and he attributed the difference to 
White Connal's having turned grazier. The having 
derogated from the dignity of an idle gentleman, and 
having turned grazier, was his chief fault in King Corny's 
eyes ; so that the only point in Connal's character and 
conduct, for which he deserved esteem, was that for 
which his intended father-in-law despised him. Connal 
had early been taught by his father's example, who was 
an idle, decayed, good gentleman, of the old Irish stock, 
that genealogies and old maps of estates in other people's 
possessions do not gain quite so much respect in this 
world as soHd wealth. The son was determined, therefore, 
to get money ; but in his horror of his father's indolence 
and poverty, he ran into a contrary extreme — ^he became 
not only industrious, but rapacious. 

In going lately to Dublin to settle with a sales master, 
he had called on Dora at her aunt's in Dublin, and he 
had been '' greatly struck," as he said, *' with Miss 
O'Shane ; she was as fine a girl as any in Ireland — turn 
out who they could against her ; all her points good. 
But, better than beauty, she would be no contemptible 



WHITE CONNAL. 297 

fortune ; with her aunt's assistance, she would cut up 
well ; she was certain of all her father's Black Islands — ■ 
fine improvable land, if well managed." 

These considerations had their full effect. Connal, 
knowing that the young lady was his destined bride, 
had begun by taking the matter coolly, and resolving 
to wait for the properest time to wed ; yet the sight of 
Dora's charms had so wrought upon him, that he was now 
impatient to conclude the marriage immediately. 
Directly after seeing Dora in Dublin, he had gone 
home and *' put things in order and in train to bear his 
absence," while he should pay a visit to the Black Islands. 
Business, which must always be considered before 
pleasure, had detained him at home longer than he had 
foreseen ; but now certain rumours he heard of gay 
doings in the Black Islands, and a letter from his father, 
advising him not to delay longer paying his respects 
at Corny Castle, determined him to set out. 

White Connal, having failed to please Dora, tried to poison 
Corny 's mind against Ormond. But he was killed by a fall from 
a horse, and Corny was prepared to give Dora to Harry, when he 
remembered that there was a twin -brother, nicknamed " Black 
Connal," who might still claim Dora's hand. The new suitor, an 
officer in the French service, soon visited the Black Islands. 



298 MARIA EDGFVVORTH. 



BLACK CONNAL. 

Dora and her aunt walked out, and accidentally met 
the gentlemen in their walk. As M. de Connal ap- 
proached, he gave them full leisure to form their opinions 
as to his personal appearance. He had the air of a foreign 
officer — easy, fashionable, and upon uncommonly good 
terms with himself — conscious, but with no vulgar 
consciousness, of possessing a fine fi.gure and a good face : 
his was the air of a French coxcomb, who in unconstrained 
delight was rather proud to display, than anxious to con- 
ceal, his perfect self-satisfaction. Interrupting his con- 
versation only when he came within a few paces of the 
ladies, he advanced with an air of happy confidence 
and Parisian gallantry, begging that Mr. O'bhane would 
do him the honour and pleasure to present him. After 
a bow, that said nothing, to Dora, he addressed his 
conversation entirely to her aunt, walking beside Madem- 
oiselle, and neither approaching nor attempting to speak 
to Dora ; he did not advert to her in the least, and seemed 
scarcely to know she was present. This quite discon- 
certed the young lady's whole plan of proceedings — no 
opportunity was aflForded her of showing disdain. She 
withdrew her arm from her aunt's, though Mademoiselle 
held it as fast as she could — but Dora withdrew it 
resolutely, and falling back a step or two, took Harry 
Ormond's arm, and walked with him, talking with 
as much unconcern, and as loudly as she could, to mark 
her indifference. But whether she talked or was silent, 
walked on with Harry Ormond, or stayed behind, 
whispered or laughed aloud, it seemed to make no 



BLACK CONxNAL, 299 

impression, no alteration whatever in Monsieur de 
Connal ; he went on conversing with Mademoiselle, 
and with her father, alternately in French and English. 
In English he spoke with a native Irish accent, which 
seemed to have been preserved from childhood ; but 
though the brogue was strong, yet there were no vulgar 
expressions ; he spoke good English, but generally with 
somewhat of French idiom. Whether this was from 
habit or affectation it was not easy to decide. It seemed 
as if the person who was speaking thought in French 
and translated it into English as he went on. The 
peculiarity of manner and accent — for there was French 
mixed with the Irish — fixed attention ; and besides 
Dora was really curious to hear what he was saying, for 
he was very entertaining. Mademoiselle was in raptures 
while he talked of Paris and Versailles, and various 
people of consequence and fashion at the court. The 
Dauphiness ! — ^she was then but just married — M. de 
Connal had seen all the fetes and the fireworks — ^but the 
beautiful Dauphiness ! — In answering a question of 
Mademoiselle's about the colour of her hair, he for the 
first time showed that he had taken notice of Dora. 
** Nearly the colour, I think, of that young lady's hair, 
as well as one can judge ; but powder prevents the pos- 
sibility of judging accurately.'' 

Dora was vexed to see that she was considered merely 
as a young lady ; she exerted herself to take a part in the 
conversation, but Mr. Connal never joined in conversation 
with her — ^with the most scrupulous deference he stopped 
short in the middle of his sentence, if she began to speak. 
He stood aside, shrinking into himself with the utmost 
care, if she was to pass ; he held the boughs of the shrubs 
out of her way, but continued his conversation with 



300 MARIA EDGEWORTIi. 

Mademoiselle all the time. When they came in from 
their walk, the same sort of thing went on. ** It really 
is very extraordinary," thought she ; " he seems as if he 
was spell-bound — obliged by his notions of politeness 
to let me pass incognita.'' 

Mademoiselle was so fully engaged, chattering away, 
that she did not perceive Dora's mortification. The 
less notice Connal took of her, the more Dora wished 
to attract his attention ; not that she desired to please 
him — no, she only longed to have the pleasure of refusing 
him. For this purpose the offer must be made — and it 
was not at all clear that any offer would be made. 

When the ladies went to dress before dinner. Madem- 
oiselle, while she was presiding at Dora's toilette, ex- 
pressed how much she was delighted with M. de Connal, 
and asked what her niece thought of him ? Dora 
replied that indeed she did not trouble herself to think 
of him at all — that she thought him a monstrous cox- 
comb — and that she wondered what could bring so pro- 
digiously fine a gentleman to the Black Islands. 

** Ask your own sense what brought him here ! or 
ask your own looking-glass what shall keep him here ! " 
said Miss O'Faley. ** I can tell you he thinks you very 
handsome already ; and when he sees you dress ! " 

" Really ! he does me honour ; he did not seem as 
if he had even seen me, more than any of the trees in the 
wood, or the chairs in the room." 

** Chairs ! — Oh, now you fish for complimens ! But 
I shall not tell you how like he thinks you if you were 
mise a la Frangoise, to la belle Comtesse de Barnac." 

" But is not it very extraordinary, he absolutely never 
spoke to me," said Dora ; '' a very strange manner of 
paying his court ! " 



BLACK CONNAL. 3OI 

Mademoiselle assured Dora '* that this was owing to 
M. de ConnaPs French habits. The young ladies in 
Paris passing for nothing, scarcely ever appearing in 
society till they are married, the gentlemen have no 
intercourse with them, and it would be considered as a 
breach of respect due to a young lady or her mother, 
to address much conversation to her. And you know, 
my dear Dore, their marriages are all made up by the 
father, the mother, the friends — the young people 
themselves never speak, never know nothing at all about 
each one another till the contract is sign ; in fact, the 
young lady is the little round what you call cipher, but 
has no value in societe at all till the figure of de husband 
come to give it value." 

** I have no notion of being a cipher," said Dora ; 
" I am not a French young lady. Monsieur de Connal." 

** Ah, but my dear Dore, consider what is de French 
wife ! Ah ! then come her great glory ; then she reign 
over all hearts, and is in full liberte to dress, to go, to come, 
to do what she like with her own carriage, her own box 

at de opera, and You listen well, and I shall draw 

all that out for you from M. de Connal." 

Dora languidly, sullenly begged her aunt would not 
give herself the trouble — she had no curiosity. But, 
nevertheless, she asked several questions about la Com- 
tesse de Barnac ; and all the time saying she did not 
in the least care what he thought or said of her, she drew 
from her aunt every syllable that M. de Connal had 
uttered, and was secretly mortified and surprised to 
find he had said so Httle. She could not dress herself 
to her mind to-day, and protesting she did not care 
how she looked, she resigned herself into her aunt's 
hands. Whatever he might think, she should take care 



^O^ MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

to show him at dinner that young ladies in this country 
were not ciphers. 

At dinner, however, as before, all Dora's preconcerted 
airs of disdain and determination to show that she was 
somebody gave way, she did not know how, before 
M. de Connal's easy assurance and polite indifference. 
His knowledge of the world, and his talents for con- 
versation, with the variety of subjects he had flowing 
in from all parts of the world, gave him advantages with 
which there w^as no possibihty of contending. 

He talked, and carved — all life, and gaiety, and fashion ; 
he spoke of battles, of princes, plays, operas, wine, 
women, cardinals, rehgion, politics, poetry, and turkeys 
stuffed with truffles — and Paris for ever ! — Dash on ! 
at everything ! — hit or miss — sure of the applause of 
Mademoiselle — and, as he thought, secure of the admira- 
tion of the whole company of natives, from le beaupere 
at the foot of the table to the boy who waited, or who 
did not wait, opposite to him, but who stood entranced 
with wonder at all that M. de Connal said, and aU that 
he did — even to the fashion in which he stowed trusses 
of salad into his mouth with a fork, and talked — through 
it all. 

And Dora, what did she think ? — she thought she was 
very much mortified that there was room for her to say 
60 little. The question now was not w^hat she thought 
of M. de Connal, but what he thought of her. After 
beginning with various Httle mock defences, avertings 
of the head, and twists of the neck, of the shoulders 
and hips, compound motions resolvable into mauvaise 
honte and pride, as dinner proceeded, and Monsieur 
de Connal's success was undoubted, she silently gave up 
her resolution '* not to admire." 



BLACK CONNAL. 303 

Before the first course was over, Connal perceived 
that he had her eye. '' Before the second is over," 
thought he, '' I shall have her ear ; and by the time we 
come to the dessert, I shall be in a fair way for the heart." 

Though he seemed to have talked without any design, 
except to amuse himself and the company in general, 
yet in all he had said there had been a prospective view 
to his object. He chose his means well, and in Madem- 
oiselle he found, at once, a happy dupe and a confederate. 
Without previous concert, they raised visions of Parisian 
glory which were to prepare the young lady's imagination 
for a French lover or a French husband. M. de Connal 
w^as well aware that no matter who touched her heart, if he 
could pique her vanity. 

After dinner, when the ladies retired, old Mr. Connal 
began to enter upon the question of the intended union 
between the families — Ormond left the room, and Corny 
suppressed a deep sigh. M. de Connal took an early 
opportunity of declaring that there was no truth in the 
report of his going to be married in England ; he con- 
fessed that such a thing had been in question — he must 
speak with delicacy — but the family and connexions 
did not suit him ; he had a strong prejudice, he owned, 
in favour of ancient family — Irish family ; he had 
always wished to marry an Irishwoman — for that reason 
he had avoided opportunities that might have occurred 
of connecting himself, perhaps advantageously, in 
France ; he was really ambitious of the honour of an 
aUiance with the O'Shanes. Nothing could be more 
fortunate for him than the friendship which had subsisted 
between his father and Mr. O'Shane. — And the promise ? 
— ReHnquish it ! — Oh ! that, he assured Mr. O'Shane, 
was quite impossible, provided the young lady herself 



304 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

should not make a decided objection^ — he should abide 
by her decision — he could not possibly think of pressing 
his suit, if there should appear any repugnance ; in that 
case, he should be infinitely mortified — he should be 
absolutely in despair ; but he should know how to 
submit — cost him what it would ; he should think, as a 
man of honour, it was his part to sacrifice his wishes 
to what the young lady might conceive to be for her 
happiness. 

He added a profusion of compliments on the young 
lady's charms, with a declaration of the effect they had 
already produced on his heart. 

This was all said with a sort of nonchalance, which 
Corny did not at all Uke. But Mademoiselle, who was 
summoned to Corny 's private council, gave it as her 
opinion that M. de Connal was already quite in love — 
quite as much as a French husband ever was. She was 
glad that her brother-in-law was bound by his promise 
to a gentleman who would really be a proper husband 
for her niece. Mademoiselle, in short, saw everything 
couleur de rose ; and she urged that, since M. de Connal 
had come to Ireland for the express purpose of forwarding 
his present suit, he ought to be invited to stay at Corny 
Castle, that he might endeavour to make himself accept- 
able to Dora. 

To this Corny acceded. He left Mademoiselle to 
make the invitation ; for, he said, she understood French 
politeness, and all that, better than he did. The invita- 
tion was made and accepted, with all due expressions of 
infinite delight. 

" Well, my dear Harry Ormond," said Corny, the first 
moment he had an opportunity of speaking to Harry in 
private, ** what do you think of this man ? " 



THE END OF KING CORNY. 305 

" What Miss O'Shane thinks of him is the question," 
said Harry, with some embarrassment. 

" That's true — it was too hard to ask you. But Til 
tell you what I think ; between ourselves, Black Connal 
is better than White, inasmuch as a puppy is better 
than a brute. We shall see what Dora will say or think 
soon — the aunt is over head and ears already ; women 
are mighty apt to be taken, one way or other, with a bit 
of a coxcomb. Vanity — vanity ! but still I know — I 
suspect — Dora has a heart ; from me, I hope, she has a 
right to a heart. But I will say no more till I see which 
way the heart turns and settles, after all the little 
tremblings and variations ; when it points steady, I shall 
know how to steer my course. I have a scheme in my 
head, but I won't mention it to you, Harry, because 
it might end in disappointment ; so go off to bed and to 
sleep, if you can ; you have had a hard day to go through, 
my poor honourable Harry." 

And poor honourable Harry had many hard days to go 
through. He had now to see how Dora's mind was 
gradually worked upon, not by a new passion, for Mr. 
Connal never inspired or endeavoured to inspire passion, 
but by her own and her aunt's vanity. 



THE END OF KING CORNY. 

Thus they continued their sport till late ; and return- 
ing, loaded with game, had nearly reached the palace, 
when Corny, who had marked a covey, quitted Harry, 
and sent his dog to spring it, at a distance much greater 
than the usual reach of a common fowling-piece. Harry 



306 MARIA tDGEWORTH. 

heard a shot, and a moment afterwards a violent shout of 
despair ; — he knew the voice to be that of Moriarty, 
and running to the spot from whence it came, he found 
his friend, his benefactor, weltering in his blood. The 
fowling-piece, overloaded, had burst, and a large splinter 
of the barrel had fractured the skull, and had sunk into 
the brain. As Moriarty was trying to raise his head, 
O'Shane uttered some words, of which all that was 
intelligible was the name of Harry Ormond. His eye 
was fixed on Harry, but the meaning of the eye was gone. 
He squeezed Harry's hand, and an instant afterwards 
O'Shane's hand was powerless. The dearest, the 
only real friend Harry Ormond h^d upon earth was gone 
for ever ! 

A boy passing by saw what had happened, and ran to 
the house, calling as he went to some workmen, who 
hastened to the place, where they heard the howling of 
the dogs. Ormond neither heard nor saw — till Moriarty 
said, '' He must be carried home " ; and someone 
approaching to lift the body, Ormond started up, pushed 
the man back, without uttering a syllable — made a sign 
to Moriarty, and between them they carried the body 
home. Sheelah and the women came out to meet them, 
v/ringing their hands and uttering loud lamentations. 
Ormond, bearing his burden as if insensible of what he 
bore, walked onward, looking at no one, answering none, 
but forcing his way straight into the house, and on — till 
they came to O'Shane's bedchamber, which was upon 
the ground-floor — there laid him on his bed. The 
women had followed, and all those who had gathered 
on the way rushed in to see and to bewail. Ormond 
looked up, and saw the people about the bed, and made a 
sign to Moriarty to keep them away, which he did as 



THE END OF KING CORNY. 307 

well as he could. But they would not be kept back — 
Sheelah, especially, pressed forward, crying loudly, till 
Moriarty, with whom she was struggling, pointed to 
Harry. Struck with his fixed look, she submitted at 
once. ** Best leave him ! " said she. She put everybody 
out of the room before her, and turning to Ormond, said, 
they would leave him ** a little space of time till the priest 
should come, who was at a clergy dinner, but was sent 
for." 

When Ormond was left alone he locked the door, and 
kneeling beside the dead, offered up prayers for the 
friend he had lost, and there remained some time in 
stillness and silence, till Sheelah knocked at the door, 
to let him know that the priest v/as come. Then retiring, 
he went to the other end of the house, to be out of the way. 
The room to which he went was that in which they 
had been reading the letters just before they went out 
that morning. There w^as the pen which Harry had 
taken from his hand, and the answer just begun. 

** Dear General, I hope my young friend, Harry 
Ormond " 

1 hat hand could write no more ! — that warm heart was 
cold ! The certainty was so astonishing, so stupefying, 
that Ormond, having never yet shed a tear, stood with 
his eyes fixed on the paper, he knew not how long, till 
he felt someone touch his hand. It was the child, little 
Tommy, of whom O'Shane was so fond, and who was 
so fond of him. The child, with his whistle in his hand, 
stood looking up at Harry, without speaking. Ormond 
gazed on him for a few instants, then snatched him in his 
arms, and burst into an agony of tears. Sheelah, who had 
let the child in, now came and carried him away. '' God 
be thanked for them tears," said she, '' they will bring 



3o8 MARIA EDGEWOKTH. 

relief " ; and so they did. The necessity for manly 
exertion — the sense of duty — pressed upon Ormond's 
recovered reason. He began directly, and wrote all the 
letters that were necessary to his guardian and to Miss 
O'Faley, to communicate the dreadful intelligence to 
Dora. The letters were not finished till late in the even- 
ing. Sheelah came for them, and leaving the door and 
the outer door to the hall open, as she came in, Ormond 
saw the candles lighted, and smelt the smell of tobacco 
and whiskey, and heard the sound of many voices. 

" The wake, dear, which is beginning," said she, 
hastening back to shut the doors, as she saw him shudder. 
** Bear with it, Master Harry," said she ; " hard for you ! 
— but bear with us, dear ; 'tis the custom of the country ; 
and what else can we do but what the forefathers did ? 
— how else for us to show respect, only as it would be 
expected, and has always been ? — and great comfort 
to think we done our best for him that is gone, and com- 
fort to know his wake will be talked of long hereafter, 
over the fires at night, of all the people that is there 
without — and that's all we have for it now ; so bear with 
it, dear." 

This night, and for two succeeding nights, the doors 
of Corny Castle remained open for all who chose to come. 

Crowds, as many, and more, than the castle could hold, 
flocked to King Corny's wake, for he was greatly beloved. 

There was, as Sheelah said, ** plenty of cake and wine, 
and tea, and tobacco, and snuff — everything handsome 
as possible, and honourable to the deceased, who was 
always open-handed and open-hearted, and with open 
house too." 

His praises, from time to time, were heard, and then the 
common business of the country was talked of — and 



THE END OF KING CORNY. 309 

jesting and laughter went on — and all night there were 
tea-drinkings for the women and punch for the men. 
Sheelah, who inwardly grieved most, went about 
incessantly among the crowd, serving all, seeing that 
none, especially them who came from a distance, should 
be neglected — and that none should have to complain 
afterwards, '' or to say that anything at all was wanting 
or niggardly." Mrs. Betty, Sheelah 's daughter, sat 
presiding at the tea-table, giving the keys to her mother 
when wanted, but never forgetting to ask for them again. 
Little Tommy took his cake and hid himself under the 
table, close by his mother, Mrs. Betty, and could not be 
tempted out but by Sheelah, whom he followed, watching 
for her to go in to Mr. Harry ; when the door opened he 
held by her gown, and squeezed in under her arm — and 
when she brought Mr. Harry his meals, she would set 
the child up at the table with him for company — and to 
tempt him to take something. 

Ormond had once promised his deceased friend that 
if he was in the country when he died, he would put him 
mto his coffin. He kept his promise. The child hearing 
a noise, and knowing that Mr. Harry had gone into the 
room, could not be kept out ; the crowd had left that 
room, and the child looked at the bed with the curtains 
looped up with black — and at the table at the foot of the 
bed, with the white cloth spread over it, and the seven 
candlesticks placed upon it. But the coffin fixed his 
attention, and he threw himself upon it, clinging to it, 
and crying bitterly upon King Corny, his dear King 
Corny, to come back to him. 

It was all Sheelah could do to drag him away ; Ormond, 
who had always liked this boy, felt now more fond of him 
than ever, and resolved that he should never want a friend. 



3IO MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

'' You are in the mind to attend the funeral, sir, I think 
you told me ? " said Sheelah. 

** Certainly/' replied Ormond. 

** Excuse me, then," said Sheelah, *' if I mention — 
for you can't know what to do without. There will be 
High Mass, maybe you know, in the chapel. And as 
it's a great funeral, thirteen priests will be there attending. 
And when the Mass will be finished, it will be expected 
of you, as first of kin considered, to walk up first with 
your offering — whatsoever you think fit, for the priests — 
and to lay it down on the altar ; and then each and all 
will follow, laying down their offerings, according as 
they can. I hope I'm not too bold or troublesome, 
sir." 

Ormond thanked her for her kindness — and felt it was 
real kindness. He consequently did all that was expected 
from him handsomely. After the Masses were over, 
the priests, who could not eat anything before they said 
Mass, had breakfast and dinner joined. Sheelah took 
care ** the clergy was well served." Then the priests — 
though it was not essential that all should go, did ally 
to Sheelah's satisfaction, accompany the funeral the 
whole way, three long miles, to the burying-place of the 
O'Shanes — a remote old abbey-ground, marked only 
by some scattered trees and a few sloping grave-stones. 
King Comy's funeral was followed by an immense 
concourse of people, on horseback and on foot ; men, 
women, and children ; when they passed by the doors 
of cabins, a set of the women raised the funeral cry — 
not a savage howl, as is the custom in some parts of 
Ireland, but chanting a melancholy kind of lament, 
not without harmony, simple and pathetic. Ormond 
was convinced, that in spite of all the festivity at the wake. 



A VICE-REGAL VISIT. 3 II 

which had so disgusted him, the poor people mourned 
sincerely for the friend they had lost. 

Dora married M. de Connal and went to France. Ormond, after 
a visit to a neighbouring clergyman, Dr. Cambriy, a friend ot 
the Annaly family, returned to Sir Ulick O 'Shane, who had now 
separated from his ill-tempered wife, Ormond's old enemy. The 
death of Harry's stepmother in India put him in possession of a 
considerable fortune, and he began to cut a more important figure 
in society. 



A VICE-REGAL VISIT. 

" My dear boy," said Sir Ulick, " are you aware that 
his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant is coming to Castle 
Hermitage to-morrow ? " 

** Yes, sir ; so I heard you say," replied Harry. 
*' What sort of a man is he ? " 

*' Man ! " repeated Sir Ulick, smiling. " In the first 
place, he is a very great man, and may be of great service 
to you." 

'' How so, sir ? I don't want anything from him. 
Now I have a good fortune of my own, what can I want 
from any man — or if I must not say man, ^ny great man ? " 

" My dear Harry, though a man's fortune is good, it 
may be better for pushing it." . 

'* And worse, may it not, sir ? Did not I hear you 
speaking last night of Lord Somebody, who had been 
pushing his fortune all his life, and died penny less ? " 

" True, because he pushed ill ; if he had pushed well, 
he would have got into a good place." 



312 MARIA EBGEWORTH. 

** I thank Heaven, I can get that now without any 
pushing." 

** You can ! — -yes, by my interest perhaps you mean." 

" No ; by my own money, I mean." 

** Bribery and corruption ! Harry. Places are not 
in this country to be bought — openly — these are things 
one must not talk of ; and pray, with your own money — 
if you could — what place upon earth would you pur- 
chase ? 

" The only place in the world I should wish for, sir, 
would be a place in the country." 

Sir Ulick was surprised, and alarmed ; but said not a 
word that could betray his feeUngs. 

** A place of my own," continued Ormond, " a com- 
fortable house and estate, on which I could Hve indepen- 
dently and happily, with some charming amiable woman." 

*' Darrell, Dartford, Lardner, which ? " said Sir 
Ulick, with a sarcastic smile. 

" I am cured of these foolish fancies, sir." 

** Well, there is another more dangerous might seize 
you, against which I must warn you, and I trust one 
w^ord of advice you will not take amiss." 

** Sir, I am very much obliged to you ; how could I 
take advice from you as anything but a proof of friend- 
ship ? " 

** Then, my dear boy, I must tell you, in confidence^ 
what you will find out the first night you are in his com- 
pany, that his Excellency drinks hard." 

** No danger of my following his example," said 
Harry. ** Thank you, sir, for the warning ; but I am 
sure enough of myself on this point, because I have been 
tried — and when I would not drink to please my own 
dear King Corny, there is not much danger of my drink- 



A VICE-f^EGAL VISIT. 313 

ing to please a Lord Lieutenant, who, after all, is nothing 
to me," 

** After all,'' said Sir Ulick ; ** but you are not come 
to after all yet — you know nothing about his Excellency 
yet." 

** Nothing but what you have told me, sir ; if he drinks 
hard, I think he sets no very good example as a Lord 
Lieutenant of Ireland." 

** What oft was thought, perhaps, but ne'er so bluntly 
expressed," said Sir Ulick. 

Sir Ulick was afterwards surprised to see the firmness 
with which his ward, when in company with persons of 
the first rank and fashion, resisted the combined force 
of example, importunity, and ridicule. Dr. Cambray 
was pleased, but not surprised ; for he had seen in his 
young friend other instances of this adherence to whatever 
he had once been convinced was right. 

Other and far more dangerous trials were now preparing 
for him ; but before we go on to these, it may be ex- 
pected that we should not pass over in silence the vice- 
regal visit — and yet what can we say about it ? All 
that Ormond could say was, that '* he supposed it was a 
great honour, but it was no great pleasure." The 
mornings, two out of five, being rainy, hung very heavily 
on hand in spite of the billiard-room. Fine weather, 
riding, shooting, or boating, killed time well enough 
till dinner ; and Harry said he liked this part of the 
business exceedingly, till he found that some great men 
were very cross if they did not shoot as many little birds 
as he did. Then came dinner, the great point of relief 
and reunion ! — and there had been late dinners, and 
long dinners, and great dinners, fine plate, good dishes, 
and plenty of wine, but a dearth of conversation — the 



3^4 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

natural topics chained up by etiquette. One half of the 
people at table were too prudent, the other half too 
stupid to talk. Sir UHck talked away indeed ; but even 
he was not half so entertaining as usual, because he was 
forced to bring down his wit and humour to court quality. 
In short, till the company had drunk a certain quantity 
of wine, nothing was said worth repeating, and after- 
wards nothing repeatable. 

After the vice-regal raree show was over, and that the 
grand folk had been properly bowed into their carriages, 
and had fairly driven away, there was some diversion 
to be had. People, without yawning, seemed to recover 
from a dead sleep ; the state of the atmosphere was 
changed ; there was a happy thaw ; the frozen words 
and bits and ends of conversations were repeated in 
deUghtful confusion. The men of wit, in revenge for 
their prudent silence, were now happy and noisy beyond 
measure. Ormond was much entertained ; he had an 
opportunity of being not only amused but instructed 
by conversation, for all the great dealers in information, 
who had kept up their goods while there was no market, 
now that there was a demand, unpacked, and brought 
them out in profusion. There was such a rich supply, 
and such a quick and happy intercourse of wit and 
knowledge, as quite delighted, almost dazzled, his eyes ; 
but his eyes were strong. He had a mind untainted 
with envy, highly capable of emulation. Much was 
indeed beyond, or above, the reach of his present powers ; 
but nothing was beyond his generous admiration — 
nothing above his future hopes of attainment. The 
effect and more than the effect, which Sir Ulick had 
foreseen, was produced on Ormond's mind by hearing 
the conversation of some of those who had distinguished 



SIR ulick's reputation. 315 

themselves in political life ; he caught their spirit — their 
ambition ; his wish was no longer merely to see the 
world, but to distinguish himself in it. 



SIR ULICK'S REPUTATION. 

During the course of Ormond's tour through Ireland 
he frequently found himself in company with those 
who knew the history of public affairs for years past, 
and were but too well acquainted with the political 
profligacy and shameful jobbing of Sir Ulick O'Shane. 

Some of these gentlemen, knowing Mr. Ormond to be 
his ward, refrained, of course, from touching upon any 
subject relative to Sir Ulick ; and when Ormond men- 
tioned him, evaded the conversation, or agreed in general 
terms in praising his abilities, wit, and address. But 
after a day or two's journey from Castle Hermitage, 
when he was beyond his own and the adjoining counties, 
when he went into company with those who happened 
to know nothing of his connexion with Sir UUck O' Shane, 
then he heard him spoken of in a very different manner. 
He was quite astonished and dismayed by the general 
abuse, as he thought it, which was poured upon him. 

*' Well, every man of abilities excites envy — every man 
who takes a part in politics, especially in times when 
parties run high, must expect to be abused ; they must 
bear it ; and their friends must learn to bear it for them." 

Such were the reflections with w^hich Ormond at first 
comforted himself. As far as party abuse went, this was 
quite satisfactory ; even facts, or what are told as facts, 



3l6 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

are so altered by the manner of seeing them by an opposite 
party, that, without meaning to traduce, they calumniate. 
Ormond entrenched himself in total disbelief, and 
cool assertion of his disbelief, of a variety of anecdotes 
he continually heard discreditable to Sir Ulick. Still 
he expected that, when he went into other company, 
and met with men of Sir Ulick's own party, he should 
obtain proofs of the falsehood of these stories, and by 
that he might be able, not only to contradict, but to con- 
fute them. People, however, only smiled, and told him 
that he had better inquire no farther, if he expected to 
find Sir Ulick an immaculate character. Those who 
liked him best, laughed off the notorious instances of 
his public defection of principle, and of his private 
jobbing, as good jokes ; proofs of his knowledge of the 
world — his address, his frankness, his being ** not a bit 
of a hypocrite." But even those who professed to like 
him best, and to be the least scrupulous with regard 
to public virtue, still spoke with a sort of facetious con- 
tempt of Sir Ulick, as a thorough-going friend of the 
powers that be — as a hack of administration — as a man 
who knew well enough what he was about. Ormond 
was continually either surprised or hurt by these insinua- 
tions. 

The concurrent testimony of numbers who had no 
interest to serve, or prejudice to gratify, operated upon 
him by degrees, so as to enforce conviction, and this 
was still more painful. 

Harry became so sore and irritable upon this subject 
that he was now every day in danger of entangUng 
himself in some quarrel in defence of his guardian. 
Several times the master of the house prevented this, 
and brought him to reason, by representing that the 



SIR ulick's reputation. 317 

persons who talked of Sir Ulick were quite ignorant 
of his connexion with him, and spoke only according to 
general opinion, and to the best of their belief, of a public 
character who was fair game. It was, at that time, 
much the fashion among a certain set in Dublin to try 
their wit upon each other in political and poetical squibs — 
the more severe and bitter these were, the more they 
were applauded ; the talent for invective was in the 
highest demand at this period in Ireland ; it was con- 
sidered as the unequivocal proof of intellectual super- 
iority. The display of it was the more admired, as it 
could not be enjoyed without a double portion of that 
personal promptitude to give the satisfaction of a gentle- 
man^ on which the Irish pride themselves ; the taste 
of the nation, both for oratory and manners, has become 
of late years so much more refined, that when any of the 
lampoons of that day are now recollected, people are 
surprised at the licence of abuse which was then toler- 
ated, and even approved of in fashionable society. Sir 
Ulick O'Shane, as a well-known public character, had been 
the subject of a variety of puns, bon-mots, songs, and 
epigrams, which had become so numerous as to be 
collected under the title of Ulysseana. Upon the late 
separation of Sir Ulick and his lady, a new edition, with 
a caricature frontispiece, had been published ; unfortu- 
nately for Ormond, this had just worked its way from 
Dublin to this part of the country. 

It happened one day, at a gentleman's house where this 
Ulysseana had not yet been seen, that a lady, a visitor 
and a stranger, full of some of the lines which she had 
learned by heart, began to repeat them for the amusement 
of the tea-table. Ladies do not always consider how 
much mischief they may do by such imprudence ; nor 



3l8 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

how they may hazard valuable lives, for the sake of 
producing a sensation^ by the repetition of a severe thing. 
Ormond came into the room after dinner, and with some 
other gentleman gathered round the tea-table, while the 
lady was repeating some extracts from the new edition 
of the Ulysseana. The master and mistress of the house 
made reiterated attempts to stop the lady ; but, too 
intent upon herself and her second-hand wit to compre- 
hend or take these hints, she went on reciting the following 
lines : — 

To serve in Parliament the nation. 
Sir Ulick read his recantation : 
At first he joined the patriot throng, 
But soon perceiving he was wrong, 
He ratted to the courtier tribe. 
Bought by a title and a bribe ; 
But how that new-found friend to bind 
With any oath — of any kind. 
Disturbed the premier's wary mind. 
Upon his faith. — Upon his word." 
Oh ! that, my friend, is too absurd. 
" Upon his honour." — Quite a jest. 
" Upon his conscience." — No such test. 
** By all he has on earth." — 'Tis gone. 
" By all his hopes of Heaven." — They're none. 
" How then secure him in our pay — 
*' He can't be trusted for a day ? " 
How ? — When you want the fellow's throat — 
Pay by the job — you have his vote. 

Sir Ulick himself, had he been present, would have 
laughed off the epigram with the best grace imaginable, 
and so, in good policy, ought Ormond to have taken it. 
But he felt it too much, and was not in the habit of laugh- 
ing when he was vexed. Most of the company, who 
knew anything of his connexion with Sir Ulick, or who 
understood the agonizing looks of the master and mistress 
of the house, politely refrained from smiles or applause ; 
but a cousin of the lady who repeated the lines, a young 



SIR ulick's reputation. 319 

man who was one of the hateful tribe of quizzersy on 
purpose to try Ormond, praised the verses to the skies, 
and appealed to him for his opinion. 

" I can't admire them, sir," replied Ormond. 

*' What fault can you find with them ? " said the 
young man, winking at the bystanders. 

" I think them incorrect^ in the first place, sir," said 
Ormond, " and altogether indifferent." 

" Well, at any rate, they can't be called moderate,'' 
said the gentleman ; *' and as to incorrect, the substance, 
I fancy, is correctly true." 

" Fancy, sir ! — It would be hard if character were 
to be at the mercy of fancy," cried Ormond, hastily ; 
but checking himself, he, in a mild tone, added, '' before 
we go any farther, sir, I should inform you that I am a 
ward of Sir Ulick O'Shane's." 

" Oh ! mercy," exclaimed the lady, who had repeated 
the verses ; *' I am sure I did not know that, or I would 
not have said a word — I declare I beg your pardon, sir." 

Ormond 's bow and smile spoke his perfect satisfaction 
with the lady's contrition, and his desire to relieve her 
from farther anxiety. So the matter might have happily 
ended ; but her cousin, though he had begun merely 
with an intention to try Ormond 's temper, now felt 
piqued by his spirit, and thought it incumbent upon him 
to persist. Having drunk enough to be ill-humoured, 
he replied, in an aggravating and ill-bred manner, *' Your 
being Sir Ulick O'Shane's ward may make a difference 
in your feelings, sir, but I don't see why it should make 
any in my opinion." 

" In the expression of that opinion at least, sir, I think 
it ought." 

The master of the house now interfered, to explain 



320 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

and pacify, and Ormond had presence of mind and com- 
mand enough over himself to say no more while the 
ladies were present ; he sat down, and began talking about 
some trifle in a gay tone ; but his flushed cheek, and 
altered manner, showed that he was only repressing 
other feelings. The carriages of the visitors were an- 
nounced, and the strangers rose to depart. Ormond 
accompanied the master of the house to hand the ladies 
to their carriages. To mark his being in perfect charity 
with the fair penitent, he showed her particular attention, 
which quite touched her ; and as he put her into her 
carriage, she, all the time, repeated her apologies, declared 
it should be a lesson to her for life, and cordially shook 
hands with him at parting. For her sake, he wished 
that nothing more should be said on the subject. 

But, on his return to the hall, he found there the cousin, 
buttoning on his great coat, and seeming loath to depart ; 
still in ill-humour, the gentleman said, ** I hope you are 
satisfied with that lady's apologies, Mr. Ormond." 

** I am, sir, perfectly." 

" That's lucky ; for apologies are easier had from 
ladies than gentlemen, and become them better." 

" I think it becomes gentlemen as well as ladies to make 
candid apologies, where they are conscious of being 
wrong — if there was no intention to give offence." 

** //" is a great peace-maker, sir ; but I scorn to take 
advantage of an t/." 

** Am I to suppose then, sir," said Ormond, " that it 
was your intention to offend me ? " 

" Suppose what you please, sir — I am not in the habit 
of explanation or apology." 

" Then, sir, the sooner we meet the better," said 
Ormond, 



SIR ulick's reputation. 321 

In consequence Ormond applied to an officer who had 
been present during the altercation to be his second. 
Ormond felt that he had restrained his anger sufficiently 
— he was now as firm as he had been temperate. The 
parties met and fought ; the man who deserved to have 
suffered, by the chance of this rational mode of deciding 
right and wrong, escaped unhurt ; Ormond received a 
wound in his arm. It was only a flesh wound. He 
was at the house of a very hospitable gentleman, whose 
family were kind to him ; and the inconvenience and 
pain were easily borne. In the opinion of all, in that part 
of the world, who knew the facts, he had conducted 
himself as well as the circumstances would permit ; 
and, as it was essential, not only to the character of a hero, 
but of a gentleman at that time in Ireland, to fight a duel, 
we may consider Ormond as fortunate in not having been 
in the wrong. He rose in favour with the ladies, and 
in credit with the gentlemen, and he heard no more of the 
Ulysseana ; but he was concerned to see paragraphs 
in all the Irish papers about the duel that had been 

fought between M. N.,Esq., jun., of , andH. 0.,Esq., 

in consequence of a dispute that arose about some satirical 
verses, repeated by a lady on a certain well-known 
character, nearly related to one of the parties. 

A flaming account of the duel followed, in which there 
was the usual newspaper proportion of truth and false- 
hood ; Ormond knew and regretted that this paragraph 
must meet the eyes of his guardian ; and still more he 
was sorry that Dr. Cambray should see it. He knew 
the doctor's Christian abhorrence of the whole system 
of duelling ; and, by the statement in the papers, it 
appeared that that gallant youth, H. O., Esq., to whom 
the newswriter evidently wished to do honour, had been 

AI 



322 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

far more forward to provoke the fight than he had been 
or than he ought to have been. His own plain statement 
of facts, which he wrote to Dr. Cambray, would have 
set everything to rights, but his letter crossed the doctor's 
on the road. As he was now in a remote place, which 
the delightful mail coach roads had not then reached 
— where the post came in only three days in the week — 
and where the mail cart either broke down, lost a wheel, 
had a tired horse, was overturned, or robbed, at an 
average once a fortnight — our hero had no alternative 
but patience, and the amusement of calculating dates 
and chances upon his restless sofa. His taste for reading 
enabled him to pass agreeably some of the hours of bodily 
confinement, which men, and young men especially, 
accustomed to a great deal of exercise, liberty, and loco- 
motion, generally find so intolerably irksome. At 
length his wound was well enough for him to travel — 
letters for him arrived ; a warm, affectionate one from his 
guardian, and one from Dr. Cambray, which relieved 
his anxiety. 

'* I must tell you, my dear young friend," said Dr 
Cambray, *' that while you have been defending Sir 
Ulick O'Shane's public character (of which, by-the-bye, 
you know nothing), I have been defending your private 
character, of which I hope and believe I know something. 
The truth is always known in time with regard to every 
character ; and, therefore, independently of other 
motives, moral and religious, it is more prudent to 
trust to time and truth for their defence than to sword 
and pistol. I know you are impatient to hear what were 
the reports to your disadvantage, and from whom I had 
them. I had them from the Annalys ; and they heard 
them in England, through various circuitous channels 



SIR ULICK S REPUTATION. 323 

of female correspondents in Ireland. As far as we 
can trace them, we think that they originated with your 
old friend Miss Black. The first account Lady Annaly 
heard of you after she went to England was that you were 
living a most dissolute life in the Black Islands with 
King Corny, who was described to be a profligate rebel, 
and his companion an ex-communicated Catholic priest ; 
king, priest, and Prince Harry getting drunk together 
regularly every night of their lives. The next account 
which Lady Annaly received some months afterwards, 
in reply to inquiries she had made from her agent, was, 
that it was impossible to know anything for certain of 
Mr. Harry Ormond, as he always kept in the Black 
Islands. The report was, that he had lately seduced 
a girl of the name of Peggy Sheridan, a respectable 
gardener's daughter, who was going to be married to a 
man of the name of Moriarty Carroll, a person whom 
Mr. Ormond had formerly shot in some unfortunate 
drunken quarrel. The match between her and Moriarty 
had been broken off in consequence. The following 
year accounts were worse and worse. This Harry 
Ormond had gained the aff'ections of his benefactor's 
daughter, though, as he had been warned by her father, 
she was betrothed to another man. The young lady 
was afterwards^ by her father's anger, and by Ormond 's 
desertion of her, thrown into the arms of a French adven- 
turer, whom Ormond brought into the house under 
pretence of learning French from him. Immediately 
after the daughter's elopement with the French master, 
the poor faiher died suddenly, in some extraordinary 
manner, when out shooting with this Mr. Ormond, 
to whom a considerable landed property, and a large 
legacy in juoney, were, to everybody's surprise, found 



324 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

to be left in a will which he produced, and which the 
family did not think fit to dispute. There were strange 
circumstances told concerning the w^ake and burial, 
all tending to prove that this Harry Ormond had lost 
all feeling. Hints were further given that he had re- 
nounced the Protestant religion, and had turned Catholic 
for the sake of absolution." 

Many times during the perusal of this extravagant 
tissue of falsehoods, Ormond laid down and resumed 
the paper, unable to refrain from exclamations of rage 
and contempt ; sometimes almost laughing at the absurd- 
ity of the slander. " After this," thought he, ** who 
can mind common reports ? — and yet Dr. Cambray 
says that these excited some prejudice against me in the 
mind of Lady Annaly. With such a woman I should 
have thought it impossible. Could she believe me 
capable of such crimes ? — me^ of whom she had once 
a good opinion ? — me, in whose fate she said she was 
interested ? " 

He took Dr. Cambray's letter again, and read on ; 
he found that Lady Annaly had not credited these reports 
as to the atrocious accusations ; but they had so far 
operated as to excite doubts and suspicions. In some 
of the circumstances there was sufficient truth to colour 
the falsehood. For example, with regard both to Peggy 
Sheridan and Dora, the truth had been plausibly mixed 
with falsehood. The story of Peggy Sheridan, Lady 
Annaly had some suspicion might be true. Her ladyship, 
who had seen Moriarty's generous conduct to Ormond, 
was indignant at his ingratitude. She was a woman 
prompt to feel strong indignation against all that was 
base ; and when her indignation was excited, she was 
sometimes incapable of hearing what was sadd on the 



SIR ulick's reputation. 325 

other side of the question. Her daughter Florence, 
of a calmer temper and cooler judgment, usually acted as 
moderator on these occasions. She could not believe 
that Harry Ormond had been guilty of faults that were 
so opposite to those which they had seen in his disposi- 
tion — violence, not treachery, was his fault. But why, 
if there were nothing wrong, Lady Annaly urged — why 
did not he write to her, as she had requested he would, 
when his plans for his future life were decided ? She 
nad told him that her son might probably be able to assist 
him. Why could not he write one line ? 

Ormond had heard that her son was ill, and that her 
mind was so absorbed with anxiety that he could not 
at first venture to intrude upon her with his selfish 
concerns. This was his first and best reason ; but 
afterwards, to be sure, when he heard that the son was 
better, he might have written. He wrote at that time 
such a sad scrawl of a hand — he was so little used to 
letter-writing, that he. was ashamed to write. Then it 
was too late after so long a silence, etc. Foolish as these 
reasons were, they had, as w^e have said before, acted 
upon our young hero ; and have, perhaps, in as important 
circumstances, prevented many young men from writing 
to friends able and willing to serve them. It was rather 
fortunate for Ormond that slander did not stop at the 
first plausible falsehoods ; when the more atrocious 
charges came against him, Miss Annaly, who had never 
deserted his cause, declared her absolute disbelief. The 
discussions that went on between her and her mother kept 
alive their interest about this young man. He was likely 
to have been forgotten during their anxiety in the son's 
illness ; but fresh reports had brought him to their 
recollection frequently ; and when their friend, Dr. 



326 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Cambray, was appointed to the living of Castle Hermitage 
his evidence perfectly reinstated Harry in Lady Annaly's 
good opinion. As if to make amends for the injustice 
she had done him by believing any part of the evil reports, 
she was now anxious to see him again. A few days 
after Dr. Cambray wrote, Ormond received a very polite 
and gratifying letter from Lady Annaly, requesting that, 
as '' Annaly " lay in his route homewards, he would 
spend a few days there, and give her an opportunity 
of making him acquainted with her son. It is scarcely 
necessary to say that this invitation was eagerly accepted. 

Upon his arrival at Annaly, Ormond found that Dr. 
Cambray and all his family were there. 

" Yes, all your friends," said Lady Annaly, as Ormond 
looked round with pleasure, ** all your friends, Mr. 
Ormond — you must allow me an old right to be of that 
number — and here is my son, who is as well inclined, 
as I hope you feel, to pass over the intermediate formality 
of new acquaintanceship, and to 'become intimate with 
you as soon as possible." 

Sir Herbert Annaly confirmed, by the polite cordiality 
of his manner, all that his mother promised ; adding 
that their mutual friend Dr. Cambray had made him 
already so fully acquainted with Mr. Ormond that though 
he had never had the pleasure of seeing him before, 
he could not consider him as a stranger. 

Florence Annaly was beautiful, but not one of those 
beauties who strike at first sight. Hers was a face which 
neither challenged nor sued for admiration. There 
v/as no expression thrown into the eyes or the eyebrows, 
no habitual smile on the lips — the features were all in 
natural repose ; the face never expressed anything 
but what the mind really felt. But if any just observation 



SIR ulick's reputation. 327 

was made in Miss Annaly's company, any stroke of genius, 
that countenance instantly kindled into light and life ; 
and if any noble sentiment was expressed, if any generous 
action was related, then the soul within illumined the 
countenance with a ray divine. When once Ormond 
had seen this, his eye returned in hopes of seeing it 
again — he had an indescribable interest and pleasure 
in studying a countenance, which seemed so true an index 
to a noble and cultivated mind, to a heart of delicate 
but not morbid sensibility. His manners and under- 
standing had been formed and improved, beyond what 
could have been expected, from the few opportunities 
of improvement he had till lately enjoyed. He was timid, 
however, in conversation with those of whose information 
and abilities he had a high opinion, so that at first he did 
not do himself justice ; but in his timidity there was no 
awkwardness ; it was joined with such firmness of 
principle, and such a resolute, manly character, that 
he was peculiarly engaging to women. 

During his first visit at Annaly he pleased much, and 
was so much pleased with every individual of the family, 
with their manners, their conversation, their affection 
for each other, and altogether with their mode of living, 
that he declared to Dr. Cambray he never had been so 
happy in his whole existence. It was a remarkable fact, 
however, that he spoke much more of Lady Annaly 
and Sir Herbert than of Miss Annaly. 

He had never before felt so very unwilling to leave 
any place, or so exceedingly anxious to be invited to 
repeat his visit. He did receive the wished-for invitation ; 
and it was given in such a manner as left him no doubt 
that he might indulge his own ardent desire to return, 
and to cultivate the friendship of this family. His ardour 



328 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

for foreign travel, his desire to see more of the world, 
greatly abated ; and before he reached Castle Hermitage, 
and by the time he saw his guardian, he had almost 
forgotten that Sir Ulick had traced for him a course of 
travels through the British Islands and the most polished 
parts of the Continent. 

He now told Sir Ulick that it was so far advanced 
in the season, that he thought it better to spend the 
winter in Ireland. 

** In Dublin instead of London ? " said Sir UHck, 
smiHng ; '' very patriotic, and very kind to me, for 
I am sure I am your first object ; and, depend upon it, 
few people, ladies always excepted, will ever like your 
company better than I do.'* 

Then Sir Ulick went rapidly over every subject, and 
every person, that could lead his ward farther to explain 
his feeUngs ; but now, as usual, he wasted his address, 
for the ingenious young man directly opened his whole 
heart to him. 

** I am impatient to tell you, sir," said he, " how very 
kindly I was received by Lady Annaly." 

*' She is very kind," said Sir Ulick ; ** I suppose, 
in general, you have found yourself pretty well received 
wherever you have gone — not to flatter you too much 
on your mental or personal qualifications, and no dis- 
paragement to Dr. Cambray's letters of introduction 
or my own, five or six thousand a year are, I have generally 
observed a tolerably good passport into society, a sufficient 
passe-partout." 

'* Passe-partout ! — not partout — not quite sufficient 
at Annaly, you cannot mean sir " 

** Oh ! I cannot mean anything, but that Annaly is 
altogether the eighth wonder of the world," said Sir 



SIR ULICK S REPUTATION. 329 

Ulick, " and all the men and women in it absolutely 
angels — perfect angels." 

*' No, sir, if you please, not perfect ; for I have heard 
— though I own I never saw it — that perfection is always 
stupid ; now certainly that the Annalys are not." 

** Well, well, they shall be as imperfect as you like — 
anything to please you." 

'' But, sir, you used to be so fond of the Annalys, I 
remember." 

" True, and did I tell you that I had changed my 
opinion ? " 

" Your manner, though not your words, tells me so." 

" You mistake ; the fact is — for I always treat you, 
Harry, with perfect candour — I was hurt and vexed by 
their refusal of my son. But, after all," added he, with 
a deep sigh, " it was Marcus's own fault — he has been very 
dissipated. Miss Annaly was right, and her mother 
quite right, I own. Lady Annaly is one of the most 
respectable women in Ireland — and Miss Annaly is a 
charming girl — I never saw any girl I should have liked 
so much for my daughter-in-law. But Marcus and I 
don't always agree in our tastes — I don't think the 
refusal there was half as great a mortification and dis- 
appointment to him as it was to me." 

" You delight me, dear sir," cried Ormond ; " for then 
I may feel secure that if ever in future — I don't mean in 
the least that I have any present thought — it would be 
absurd — it would be ridiculous — it would be quite 
improper — you know I was only there ten days ; but 
I mean if, in future, I should ever have any thoughts — 
any serious thoughts " 

** Well, well," said Sir Ulick, laughing at Ormond's 
hesitation and embarrassment, *' I can suppose that you 



330 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

will have thoughts of some kind or other, and serious 
thoughts in due course ; but, as you justly observe, 
it would be quite ridiculous at present." 

** I beg your pardon, sir," interrupted Harry, '* but 
it would even at present be an inexpressible satisfaction 
to me to know, that if in future such a thing should occur, 
I should be secure, in the first place, of your approbation." 

" As to that, my dear boy," said Sir Ulick, " you 
know in a few days you will be at years of discretion — 
then my control ceases." 

** Yes, sir ; but not my anxiety for your approbation, 
and my deference for your opinion." 

" Then," said Sir Ulick, " and without circumlocution 
or nonsense, I tell you at once, Harry Ormond, that 
Florence Annaly is the woman in the world I should 
like best to see your wife." 

** Thank you, sir, for this explicit answer — I am sure 
towards me nothing can have been more candid and kind 
than your whole conduct has ever been." 

" That's true, Harry," exclaimed Sir Ulick. " Tell 
me about this duel — you have fought a duel in defence 
of my conduct and character, I understand, since I saw 
you. But, my dear fellow, though I am excessively 
obliged to you, I am exceedingly angry with you ; how 
could you possibly be so hot-heated and silly as to take up 
any man for relishing the Ulysseana ? Bless ye ! I relish 
it myself — I only laugh at such things ; believe me, 'tis 
the best way." 

** I am sure of it, sir, if one can ; and, indeed, I have 
had pretty good proof that one should despise reports 
and scandal of all kinds — easier for oneself sometimes 
than for one's friends." 

'* Yes, my dear Ormond, by the time you have been 



SIR ULICKS REPUTATION. 33 1 

half as long living in the great and the political world 
as I have been, you will be quite case-hardened, and 
will hear your friends abused, without feeling it in the 
least. Believe me, I once was troubled with a great deal 
of susceptibility like yours — but, after all, 'tis no bad 
thing for you to have fought a duel — a feather in your 
cap with the ladies, and a warning to all impertinent 
fellows to let you alone — but you were wounded, the 
newspaper said — I asked you where, three times in my 
letters — you never condescended to answer me — answer 
me now, I insist upon it." 

" In my arm, sir — a slight scratch." 

" Slight scratch or not, I must hear all about it — 
come, tell me exactly how the thing began and ended — 
tell me all the rascal said of me. — You won't ? — then I'll 
tell you : they said, * I am the greatest jobber in Ireland 
— that I do not mind how I throw away the public 
money — in short, that I am a sad political profligate.' — 
Well ! well ! I am sure, after all, they did me the justice 
to acknowledge that in private life no man's honour is 
more to be depended on." 

" They did do you that justice, sir," said Ormond ; 
" but pray ask me no farther questions — for, frankly, 
it is disagreeable to me — and I will tell you no more." 

" That's frank," said Sir Ulick, " and I as frankly 
assure you I am perfectly satisfied." 



332 MARIA EDGEWORTH 



AN EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM. 

Mrs. M*Crule had not altered in disposition, though 
her objects had been changed by marriage. Having no 
longer Lady O 'Shane's quarrels with her husband to talk 
about, she had become the pest of the village of Castle 
Hermitage and of the neighbourhood — the Lady Blue- 
mantle of the parish. Had Miss Black remained in 
England, married or single, she would only have been 
one of a numerous species too well known to need any 
description ; but transplanted to a new soil and a new 
situation, she proved to be a variety of the old species, 
with peculiarly noxious qualities, which it may be useful 
to describe, as a warning to the unwary. It is unknown 
how much mischief the Lady Bluemantle class may 
do in Ireland, where parties in religion and politics 
run high ; and where it often happens that individuals 
of the different sects and parties actually hate w^ithout 
knowing each other, watch without mixing with one 
another, and consequently are prone reciprocally to 
believe any stories or reports, however false or absurd, 
which tend to gratify their antipathies. In this situation 
it is scarcely possible to get the exact truth as to the words, 
actions, and intentions of the nearest neighbours, who 
happen to be of opposite parties or persuasions. What 
a fine field is here for a mischief-maker ! Mrs. M*Crule 
had in her parish done her part ; she had gone from rich 
to poor, from poor to rich, from Catholic to Protestant, 
from Churchman to Dissenter, and from Dissenter to 
Methodist, reporting every idle story and repeating 



AN EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM. 333 

every ill-natured thing that she heard said — things often 
more bitterly expressed than thought, and always ex- 
aggerated or distorted in the repetition. No two people 
in the parish could have continued on speaking terms 
at the end of the year, but that, happily, there were in 
this parish both a good clergyman and a good priest ; 
and, still more happily, they both agreed in labouring 
for the good of their parishioners. Dr. Cambray and 
Mr. M*Cormuck made it their business continually to 
follow after Mrs. M*Crule, healing the wounds which 
she inflicted, and pouring into the festering heart the balm 
of Christian charity ; they were beloved and revered by 
their parishioners ; Mrs. M'Crule was soon detected, 
and universally avoided. Enraged, she attacked, by 
turns, both the clergyman and the priest ; and when 
she could not separate them, she found out that it was 
very wrong that they should agree. She discovered that 
she was a much better Protestant, and a much better 
Christian, than Dr. Cambray, because she hated her 
Catholic neighbours. 

Dr. Cambray had taken pains to secure the co-opera- 
tion of the Catholic clergyman in all his attempts to 
improve the lower classes of the people. His village 
school was open to Catholics as well as Protestants ; and 
Father M*Cormuck, having been assured that their reli- 
gion would not be tampered with, allowed and encouraged 
his flock to send their children to the same seminary. 

Mrs. M*Crule was, or affected to be, much alarmed and 
scandalized at seeing Catholic and Protestant children 
mixing so much together ; she knew that opinions were 
divided among some families in the neighbourhood 
upon the propriety of this mixture, and Mrs. M'Crule 
thought it a fine opportunity of making herself of con- 



334 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

sequence, by stirring up the matter into a party question. 
This bright idea had occurred to her just about the time 
that Ormond brought over Httle Tommy from the Black 
Islands. During Ormond's absence upon his tour, 
Sheelah and Moriarty had regularly sent the boy to the 
village school, exhorting him to mind his book and his 
figures, that he might surprise Mr. Ormond with his 
laming when he should come back. Tommy, with this 
excitation, and being a quick, clever little fellow, soon 
got to the head of his class, and kept there ; and won 
all the school-prizes, and carried them home in triumph 
to his grandame, and to his dear Moriarty, to be treasured 
up, that he might show them to Mr. Ormond at his return 
home. Dr. Cambray was pleased with the boy, and so 
was everybody, except Mrs. M'Crule. She often 
visited the school for the pleasure of finding fault ; and 
she wondered to see this little Tommy, who was a Catholic, 
carrying away the prizes from all the others. She 
thought it her duty to inquire farther about him ; and 
as soon as she discovered that he came from the Black 
Islands, that he lived with Moriarty, and that Mr. 
Ormond was interested about him, she said she knew 
there was something wrong — therefore, she set her face 
against the child, and against the shameful partiality 
that some people showed. 

Dr. Cambray pursued his course without attending 
to her ; and little Tommy pursued his course, improving 
rapidly in his laming. 

Now, there was in that county an excellent charitable 
institution for the education of children from seven to 
twelve years old ; an apprentice fee was given with the 
children when they left the school, and they had several 
other advantages, which made parents of the lower 



AN EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM. 335 

classes extremely desirous to get their sons into this 
establishment. 

Before they could be admitted it was necessary that 

they should have a certificate from their parish minister 

and Catholic clergyman, stating that they could read 

and write, and that they were well-behaved children. 

On a certain day, every year, a number of candidates 

were presented. The certificates from the clergyman 

and priest of their respective parishes were much attended 

to by the lady patronesses, and by these the choice of 

the candidate to be admitted was usually decided. Little 

Tommy had an excellent certificate both from Father 

M*Cormuck and from Dr. Cambray. Sheelah and 

Moriarty were in great joy, and had ** all the hopes 

in life " for him ; and Sheelah, who was very fond of 

surprises, had cautioned Moriarty, and begged the doctor 

not to tell Mr. Harry a word about it, till all was fixed, 

" for if the boy should not have the luck to be chose at last, 

it would only be breaking his little heart the worse that 

Mr. Harry should know anything at all about it, sure/' 

Meantime, Mrs. M'Crule was working against little 

Tommy with all her might. 

Some of the lady patronesses were of opinion that it 
would be expedient in future to confine their bounty 
to the children of Protestants only. 

Mrs. M*Crule, who had been deputed by one of the 
absent ladies to act for her, was amazingly busy, visiting 
all the patronesses, and talking, and fearing, and '* hoping 
to heaven ! " and prophesying, canvassing, and collecting 
opinions and votes, as for a matter of life and death. 
She hinted that she knew that the greatest interest was 
making to get in this year a Catholic child, and there was 
no knowing, if this went on, what the consequence might 



336 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

be. In short, Ireland would be ruined if little Tommy 
should prove the successful candidate. Mrs. M*Crule 
did not find it difficult to stir up the prejudices and 
passions of several ladies, whose education and whose 
means of information might have secured them from such 
contemptible influence. 

Her present business at Annaly was to try what im- 
pression she could make on Lady and Miss Annaly, who 
were both patronesses of the school. As to Ormond, 
whom she never had liked, she was glad of this oppor- 
tunity of revenging herself upon this little protege ; and 
of making Mr. Ormond sensible that she was now a 
person of rather more consequence than she had been, 
when he used formerly to defy her at Castle Hermitage. 
She little thought that, while she was thus pursuing the 
dictates of her own hate, she might serve the interests 
of Ormond 's love. 

When Ormond returned, in obedience to Mrs. 
M*Crule's summons, he found in the room an unusual 
assemblage of persons — a party of morning visitors, 
the unmuffled contents of the car. As he entered, 
he bowed as courteously as possible to the whole circle, 
and advanced towards Mrs. M^Crule, whose portentous 
visage he could not fail to recognize. That visage was 
nearly half a yard long, thin out of all proportion, and 
dismal beyond all imagination ; the corners of the mouth 
drawn down, the whites or yellows of the eyes upturned, 
while with hands outspread she was declaiming, and in a 
lamentable tone deploring, as Ormond thought, some 
great public calamity ; for the concluding words were : 
'' The danger, my dear Lady Annaly — the danger, my 
dear Miss Annaly — oh ! the danger is imminent. We 
shall all be positively undone, ma'am ; and Ireland — 



AN EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM. 337 

oh ! I wish I was once safe in England again — Ireland 
positively will be ruined ! " 

Ormond, looking to Lady Annaly and Miss Annaly 
for explanation, was somewhat re-assured in this imminent 
danger, by seeing that Lady Annaly's countenance was 
perfectly tranquil, and that a slight smile played on the 
lips of Florence. 

" Mr. Ormond," said Lady Annaly, " I am sorry to 
hear that Ireland is in danger of being ruined by your 
means." 

" By my means ! " said Ormond, in great surprise ; 
** I beg your ladyship's pardon for repeating your words, 
but I really cannot understand them." 

" Nor I neither ; but by the time you have lived as 
long as I have in the world," said Lady Annaly, " you 
will not be so much surprised as you now seem, my good 
sir, at hearing people say what you do not understand. 
I am told that Ireland will be undone by means of a 
protege of yours, of the name of Tonuny Dun — ^not 
Dun Scotus." 

" Dunshaughlin, perhaps," said Ormond, laughing, 
" Tonrniy DunshaughHn ! that little urchin ! What harm 
can little Tommy do to Ireland, or to any mortal ? " 

Without condescending to turn her eyes upon Ormond, 
whose propensity to laughter had of old been offensive 
to her nature, Mrs. M*Crule continued to Lady Annaly : 
" It is not of this insignificant child as an individual that 
I am speaking. Lady Annaly ; but your ladyship, who 
has lived so long in the world, must know that there is 
no person or thing, however insignificant, that cannot, 
in the hands of a certain description of people, be made 
an engine of mischief." 

" Very true, indeed," said Lady Annaly. 

BI 



338 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

** And there is no telling or conceiving," pursued 
Mrs. ]\rCrule, ** how in the hands of a certain party, you 
know, ma'am, anything now, even the least and the most 
innocent child (not that I take upon me to say that this 
chikl is so very innocent, though, to be sure, he is 
very little) — but innocent or not, there is positively 
nothing. Lady Annaly, ma'am, which a certain party, 
certain evil-disposed persons, cannot turn to their 
purposes." 

** I cannot contradict that — I wish I could," said Lady 
Annaly. 

'* But I see your ladyship and Miss Annaly do not 
consider this matter as seriously as I could wish. 'Tis 
an infatuation," said Mrs. M'Crule, uttering a sigh, 
almost a groan, for her ladyship's and her daughter's 
infatuation. " But if people, ladies especially, knew 
but half as much as I have learnt, since I married Mr. 
M*Crule, of the real state of Ireland ; or if they had but 
half a quarter as many means as I have of obtaining 
information, Mr. M^Crule being one of his majesty's 
very active justices of the peace, riding about, and up 
and down, ma'am, scouring the country, sir, you know, 
and having informers, high and low, bringing us every 
sort of intelligence ; I say, my dear Lady Annaly, ma'am, 
you would, if you only heard a hundredth part of what 
I hear daily, tremble — your ladyship would tremble 
from morning till night. ^' 

" T^en I am heartily glad I do not hear it ; for I 
should dislike very much to tremble from morning till 
night, especially as my trembling could do nobody any 
good." 

** But, Lady Annaly, ma'am, you can do good by 
exerting yourself to prevent the danger in this emergency ; 



AN EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM. 339 

you can do good, and it becomes your station and your 
character ; you can do good, my dear Lady Annaly, 
ma'am, to thousands in existence, and thousands yet 
unborn." 

" My benevolence having but a limited appetite for 
thousands,'' said Lady Annaly, ** I should rather, if it 
be equal to you, Mrs. M^Crule, begin with the thousands 
already in existence ; and of those thousands, why not 
begin with little Tommy ? " 

" It is no use ! " cried Mrs. M*Crule, rising from her 
seat in the indignation of disappointed zeal ; " Jenny, 
pull the bell for the car — Mrs. M*Greggor, if youVe 
no objection, Fm at your service, for 'tis no use I see for 
me to speak here — nor should I have done so, but that 
I positively thought it my duty ; and also a becoming 
attention to your ladyship and Miss Annaly, as lady 
patronesses, to let you know beforehand our sentiments, 
as I have collected the opinions of so many of the leading 
ladies, and apprehended your ladyship might, before it 
came to a public push, like to have an inkling or innuendo 
of how matters are likely to be carried at the general 
meeting of the patronesses on Saturday next, when we 
are determined to put it to the vote and poll. Jenny, 
do you see Jack and the car ? Good morning to your 
ladyship ; good day. Miss Annaly." 

Ormond put in a detainer : ** I am here in obedience 
to your summons, Mrs. M*Crule — you sent to inform 
me that you had a few words of consequence to say to 
me. 

" True, sir, I did wrap myself up this winter morning, 
and came out, as Mrs. M'Greggor can testify, in spite 
of my poor face, in hopes of doing some little good, 
and giving a friendly hint, before an explosion should 



340 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

publicly take place. But you will excuse me, since 
I find I gain so little credit, and so waste my breath ; I can 
only leave gentlemen and ladies in this emergency, if they 
will be blind to the danger at this crisis, to follow their 
own opinions/' 

Ormond still remonstrating on the cruelty of leaving 
him in utter darkness, and caUing it blindness, and 
assuring Mrs. M^Crule that he had not the slightest 
conception of what the danger or the emergency to which 
she alluded might be, or what little Tommy could have 
to do with it, the lady condescended, in compliance with 
Mrs. M*Greggor's twitch behind, to stay and recommence 
her statement. He could not forbear smiling, even 
more than Lady Annaly had done, when he was made 
to understand that the emergency and crisis meant nothing 
but this child's being admitted or not admitted into a 
charity school. While Ormond was incapable of speaking 
in reply with becoming seriousness, Florence, who saw^ 
his condition, had the kindness to draw off Mrs. M'Crule's 
attention, by asking her to partake of some excellent 
goose-pie, which just then made its entrance. This 
promised, for a time, to suspend the discussion, and to 
unite all parties in one common sympathy. When 
Florence saw that the consommey to which she delicately 
helped her, was not thrown away upon Mrs. M^Crule, 
and that the union of goose and turkey in this Christmas 
dainty was much admired by this good lady, she at- 
tempted playfully to pass to a reflection on the happy 
effect that might to some tastes result from unions in 
party matters. 

But no — ** too serious matters these to be jested with," 
even with a glass of Barsac at the lips. Mrs. M*Crule 
stopped to say so, and to sigh. Per favour of the Barsac, 



AN EDUCATIONAL PROBLEM. 34I 

however, Florence ventured to try what a Uttle raillery 
might do. It was possible, that if Mrs. M^Greggor and 
the chorus of young ladies could be made to laugh, Mrs. 
M*Crule might be brought to see the whole thing in a less 
gloomy point of view ; and might perhaps be, just 
in time, made sensible of the ridicule to which she would 
expose herself, by persisting in sounding so pompously 
a false alarm. 

** But can there really be so much danger," said 
Florence, " in letting little children, Protestant and 
Catholic, come together to the same school — sit on the 
same bench — learn the same alphabet from the same 
hornbook ? " 

** Oh, my dear Miss Annaly," cried Mrs. M^Crule, 
" I do wonder to hear you treat this matter so lightly — 
you, from whom I confess I did expect better principles ; 
* sit on the same bench ! ' easily said ; but, my dear young 
lady, you do not consider that some errors of Popery — 
since there is no Catholic in the room, I suppose I may 
say it — the errors of Popery are wonderfully infectious." 

" I remember," said Lady Annaly, ** when I was a 
child, being present once, when an honest man, that is, 
a Protestant (for in those days no man but a Protestant 
could be called an honest man), came to my uncle in a 
great passion to complain of the priest : * My lord,' said 
he, * what do you think the priest is going to do ? — he 
is going to bury a Catholic corpse, not only in the church- 
yard, but, my lord, near to the grave of my father, who 
died a staunch dissenter.' * My dear sir,' said my uncle, 
to the angry honest man, * the clergyman of che parish 
is using me worse still, for he is going to bury a man, 
who died last Wednesday of the small-pox, near to my 
grandmother, who never had the small-pox in her life."* 



342 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Mrs. M'Crule pursed up her mouth very close at this 
story. She thought Lady Annaly and her uncle were 
equally wicked, but she did not choose exactly to say so, 
as her ladyship's uncle was a person of rank, and of 
character too soHdly established for Mrs. M'Crule to 
shake. She, therefore, only gave one of her sighs for 
the sins of the whole generation, and after a recording 
look at Mrs. M'Greggor, she returned to the charge about 
the schools and the children. 

" It can do no possible good," she said, " to admit 
Catholic children to our schools, because, do what you 
will, you can never make them good Protestants." 

" Well," said Lady Annaly, " as my friend, the ex- 
cellent Bishop of ^ ^ ^ :jj: :,^ :jj: sald in parHament, ' if you 
cannot make them good Protestants, make them good 
Catholics, naake them good any-things.' " 

Giving up Lady Annaly altogether, Mrs. M^Crule now 
desired to have Mr. Ormond's ultimatum — she wished 
to know whether he had made up his mind as to the affair 
in question ; but she begged leave to observe, " that since 
the child had, to use the gentlest expression, the mis- 
fortune to be born and bred a Catholic, it would be most 
prudent and gentlemanlike in Mr. Ormond not to make 
him a bone of contention, but to withdraw the poor child 
from the contest altogether, and strike his name out of 
the list of candidates, till the general question of admit- 
tance to those of his persuasion should have been decided 
by the lady patronesses." 

Ormond declared, with or without submission to Mrs. 
M*Crule, that he could not think it becoming or gentle- 
manlike to desert a child whom he had undertaken to 
befriend—- that, whatever the child had the misfortune 
to be born, he would abide by him ; and would not add 



MADAME DE CONNAL. 343 

to his misfortunes by depriving him of the reward of his 
own industry and appHcation, and of the only chance 
he had of continuing his good education, and of getting 
forward in hfe. 

Mrs. M'Crule sighed and groaned. 

A misunderstanding with Miss Annaly inclined Ormond to 
accept an invitation to Paris from the de Coniials, and Sir Ulick 
had his own reasons for urging his ward to leave Ireland. Ormond 
gave Sir UHck a power of attorney before starting for France. 



MADAME DE CONNAL. 

Connal enjoyed Ormond's surprise at the magnificence 
of his hotel. After ascending a spacious staircase, and 
passing through antechamber after antechamber, they 
reached the splendid salon, blazing with lights, reflected 
on all sides in mirrors, that reached from the painted 
ceiling to the inlaid floor. 

** Not a creature here yet — happily." 

** Madame begs," said the servant, " that Monsieur 
will pass on into the boudoir." 

** Anybody with Madame ? " 

** No one but Madame de Clairville.'* 

** Only Vamie intimey' said Connal, " the bosom 
friend." 

" How will Dora feel ? — How will it be with us both ? " 
thought Ormond, as he followed the light step of the 
husband. 

** Entrez ! — Entrez toujours." 

Ormond stopped at the threshold, absolutely dazzled 
by the brilliancy of Dora's beauty, her face, her figure, 
her air, so infinitely improved, so fashioned ! 



344 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

" Dora ! — Ah ! Madame de Connal/' cried Orraond. 

No French actor could have done it better than nature 
did it for hinx. 

Dora gave one glance at Ormond — pleasure, joy, 
sparkled in her eyes ; then leaning on the lady who stood 
beside her, almost sinking, Dora sighed, and exclaimed, 
"Ah ! Harry Ormond ! " • 

The husband vanished. 

" Ah ciel ! " said I'amie intime, looking towards 
Ormond. 

" Help me to support her, Moniseur — ^while I seek 
de Teau de Cologne." 

Ormond, seized with sudden tremor, could scarcely 
advance 

Dora sunk on the sofa, clasping her beautiful hands, 
and exclaiming, ** The companion of my earliest days ! " 

Then Ormond, excused to himself, sprang forward — 
" Friend of my childhood ! " cried he ; " yes, my sister ; 
your father promised me this friendship — this happiness," 
said he, supporting her, as she raised herself from the 
sofa. 

" Ou est-il ? ou est-il ? — Where is he, Monsieur 
Ormond ? " cried Mademoiselle, throwing open the 
door. ** Ah ciel, comme il est beau ! A perfect French- 
man already ! And how much embellished by dress ! — 
Ah ! Paris for that. Did I not prophesy ? — Dora, my 

darling, do me the justice. But — comme vous voila 

saisie ! — here's Tamie with I'eau de Cologne. Ah ! 
my child, recover yourself, for here is someone — ^the 
Comte de Jarillac it is entering the salon." 

The promptitude of Dora's recovery was a new surprise 
to our hero. ** Follow me," said she to him, and with 
Parisian ease and grace she glided into the salon to 



MADAME DE CONNAL. 345 

receive M. de Jar iliac — presented Ormond to M. le 
Comte — *' Anglois — Irlandois — an English, an Irish 
gentleman — the companion of her childhood/' with the 
slightest, lightest tone of sentiment imaginable ; and 
another count and another came, and a baron, and a 

marquis, and a duke, and Madame la Comtesse de , 

and Madame la Duchesse ; and all were received 

with ease, respect, vivacity, or sentiment as the occasion 
required — now advancing a step or two to mark empresse- 
ment w^here requisite ; regaining always, imperceptibly, 
the most advantageous situation and attitude for herself 
— presenting Ormond to everyone — quite intent upon 
him, yet appearing entirely occupied with everybody 
else ; and, in short, never forgetting them, him, or herself 
for an instant. 

** Can this be Dora ? " thought Ormond in admiration, 
yet in astonishment that divided his feelings. It was 
indeed wonderful to see how quickly, how completely, 
the Irish country girl had been metamorphosed into a 
French woman of fashion. 

And now surrounded by admirers, by adorers in 
embroidery and blazing with crosses and stars, she 
received les hommages — enjoyed le succes — accepted the 
incense without bending too low or holding herself too 
high — not too sober, nor too obviously intoxicated. 
Vanity in all her heart, yet vanity not quite turning her 
head, not more than was agreeable and becoming — 
extending her smiles to all, and hoping all the time that 
Harry Ormond envied each. Charmed with him — 
for her early passion for him had revived in an instant — 
the first sight of his figure and air, the first glance in the 
boudoir had been sufficient. She knew, too, how well 
he would succeed at Paris — how many rivals she would 



34^ MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

have in a week ; these perceptions, sensations, and 
conclusions, requiring so much time in slow words to 
express, had darted through Dora's head in one instant, 
had exalted her imagination, and touched her heart — 
as much as that heart could be touched. 

Ormond meantime breathed more freely, and recovered 
from his tremors. Madame de Connal, surrounded by 
adorers, and shining in the salon, was not so dangerous 
as Dora half fainting in the boudoir ; nor had any words 
that wit or sentiment could devise power to please or 
touch him so much as the " Harry Ormond! " which 
had burst naturally from Dora's lips. Now he began 
almost to doubt whether nature or art prevailed. Now 
he felt himself safe at least, since he saw that it was only 
the coquette of the Black Islands transformed into the 
coquette of the Hotel de Connal. The transformation 
was curious, was admirable ; Ormond thought he could 
admire without danger, and, in due time, perhaps gallant, 
with the best of them, without feeling — ^without scruple. 

The tables were now arranging for play. The con- 
versation he heard everywhere round him related to the 
good or bad fortune of the preceding nights. Ormond 
perceived that it was the custom of the house to play 
every evening, and the expressions that reached him 
about bets and debts confirmed the hint which his 
guardian had given him, that Connal played high. 

At present, however, he did not seem to have any design 
upon Ormond — he was engaged at the further end of 
the room. He left him quite to himself, and to Madame, 
and never once even asked him to play. 

There seemed more danger of his being left out than 
of his being taken in. 



ORMOND IN PARIS. 347 



ORMOND IN PARIS. 

It was during the latter years of the life of Louis the 
Fifteenth, and during the reign of Madame du Barry, that 
Ormond was at Paris. The court of Versailles was at 
this time in all its splendour, if not in all its glory. At the 
souper du roi, Ormond beheld, in all the magnificence 
of dress and jewels, the nobiUty, wealth, fashion, and 
beauty of France. Well might the brilliancy dazzle 
the eyes of a youth fresh from Ireland, when it amazed 
even old ambassadors, accustomed to the ordinary 
grandeur of courts. When he recovered from his first 
astonishment, when his eyes were a little better used to 
the Ught, and he looked round and considered all these 
magnificently decorated personages, assembled for the 
purpose of standing at a certain distance to see one man 
eat his supper, it did appear to him an extraordinary 
spectacle ; and the very great solemnity and devotion 
of the assistants, so unsuited to the French countenance, 
inclined him to smile. It was well for him, however, 
that he kept his Irish risible muscles in order, and that no 
courtier could guess his thoughts — a smile would have 
lost him his reputation. Nothing in the world appeared 
to Frenchmen, formerly, of more importance than their 
court etiquette, though there were some who began 
about this time to suspect that the court order of things 
might not be co-existent with the order of nature — 
though there were some philosophers and statesman 
who began to be aware that the daily routine of the cour- 
tier's etiquette was not as necessary as the motions of 



348 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

the sun, moon, and planets. Nor could it have been 
possible to convince half at least of the crowd, who 
assisted at the king's supper this night, that all the 
French national eagerness about the health, the looks, 
the words, of le rot, all the attachment, le devouement, 
professed habitually — perhaps felt habitually — ^for the 
reigning monarch, whoever or whatever he might be, 
by whatever name — notre bon roi, or simply notre roi 
de France — ^should in a few years pass away, and be no 
more seen. 

Ormond had no concern with the affairs of the nation, 
nor with the future fate of anything he beheld ; he was 
only a spectator, a foreigner ; and his business was, 
according to Mademoiselle's maxim, to enjoy to-day 
and to reflect to-morrow. His enjoyment of this day 
was complete : he not only admired, but was admired. 
In the vast crowd he was distinguished ; some nobleman 
of note asked who he was — another observed Vair noble — 
another exclaimed, " Le bel Anglois ! " and his fortune 
was made at Paris ; especially as a friend of Madame 
du Barry's asked where he bought his embroidery. 

He went afterwards, at least in Connal's society, 
by the name of " Le bel Anglois'' Half in a tone of 
raillery, yet with a look that showed she felt it to be 
just, Madame de Connal first adopted the appellation, 
and then changed the term to *' mon bel Irlandois'' 
Invitations upon invitations poured upon Ormond — 
all were eager to have him at their parties — he was every- 
where — attending Madame de Connal — and she, how 
proud to be attended by Ormond ! He dreaded lest 
his principles should not withstand the strong temptation. 
He could not leave her, but he determined to see her only 
in crowds ; accordingly, he avoided every select party ; 



ORMOND IN PARIS. 349 

Tamie intime could never for the first three weeks get 
him to one petit comite, though Macame de Connal 
assured him that her friend's petit soupers ** were charm- 
ing, worth all the crowded assemblies in Paris.'' Still he 
pursued his plan, and sought for safety in a course of 
dissipation. 

'* I give you joy," said Connal to him one day, " you« 
are fairly launched ! you are no distressed vessel to be 
taken in toWy nor a petty bark to sail in any man's wake. 
You have a gale, and are likely to have a triumph of your 
own." 

Connal was, upon all occasions, careful to impress 
upon Ormond's mind that he left him wholly to himself, 
for he was aware that, in former days, he had offended 
his independent spirit by airs of protection. He managed 
better now — he never even invited him to play, though 
it was his main object to draw him to his faro- table. 
He made use of some of his friends or confederates, who 
played for him ; Connal occasionally coming to the table 
as an unconcerned spectator. Ormond played with 
so much freedom, and seemed to have so gentlemanlike 
an indifference whether he lost or won, that he was 
considered as an easy dupe. Time only was necessary, 
M. de Connal thought, to lead him on gradually and with- 
out alarm, to let him warm to the passion for play. 
Meanwhile Madame de Connal felt as fully persuaded 
that Ormond's passion for her would increase. It was 
her object to^^x: him at Paris ; but she should be content, 
perfectly happy with his friendship, his society, his 
sentiments ; her own sentiment for him, as she confessed 
to Madame de Clairville, was absolutely invincible ; but it 
would never lead her beyond the bounds of virtue. It 
was involuntary, but it should never be a crime. 



350 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

But Ormond did not yet advance in learning the 
language of sentiment — he was amusing himself in the 
world — and Dora imagined that the dissipation in which 
he lived prevented him from having time to think of his 
passion ; she began to hate the dissipation. 

Connal one day, when Dora was present, observed 
that Ormond seemed to be quite in his natural element 
in this sea of pleasure. 

*' Who would have thought it ? ^ said Dora ; "I 
thought Mr. Ormond 's taste was more for domestic 
happiness and retirement." 

" Retirement at Paris ! " said Ormond. 

" Domestic happiness at Paris ! " said Connal. 

Madame de Connal sighed — No, it was Dora that 
sighed. 

" Where do you go to-night ? " said her husband. 

" Nowhere — I shall stay at home. And you ? " said 
she, looking up at Harry Ormond. 

" To Madame de la Tour's." 

" That's the affair of half an hour — only to appear " 

" Afterwards to the opera," said Ormond. 

" And after the opera — can't you sup here ? " said 
Madame de Connal. 

" With the utmost pleasure — but that I am engaged 
to Madame de la Erie's ball." 

" That's true," cried Madame de Connal, starting up — 
" I had forgot it — ^so am I this fortnight — I may as well 
go to the opera, too, and I can carry you to Madame de 
la Tour's — I owe her a five minutes' sitting — though 
she is un peu precieuse. And what can you find in that 
little cold Madame de la Brie — do you like ice ? " 

" He like to break de ice, I suppose," said Madem- 
oiselle. *^ Ma foi, you must th^a take a hatchet there ! " 



ORMOND IN PARIS. 351 

" No occasion ; I had rather slide upon the Ice than 
break it. My business at Paris is merely, you know, 
to amuse myself,'* said he, looking at Connal — '' Glissez, 
mortels, n'appuyez pas.'' 

'' But if de ice should melt of itself," said Mademoiselle, 
" what would you do den ? What w^ould become of 
him, den, do you think, my dear niece ? " 

It was a case which she did not like to consider — Dora 
blushed — no creature was so blind as Mademoiselle, 
with all her boasted quickness and penetration. 

From this time forward no more w^as heard of Madame 
de Connal's taste for domestic life and retirement — she 
seemed quite convinced, either by her husband,, or by 
Mr. Ormond, or both, that no such thing was practicable 
at Paris. She had always liked le grand monde — she 
liked it better now than ever, when she found Ormond 
in every crowded assembly, every place of public amuse- 
ment — a continual round of breakfasts, dinners, balls — 
court balls — bal masque — bal de Topera — plays — ^grand 
entertainments — ^petits soupers — fetes at Versailles — 
pleasure in every possible form and variety of luxury 
and extravagance succeeded day after day, and night 
after night — and Ormond, le bel Irlandois, once in fashion, 
was everywhere, and everywhere admired ; flattered by 
the women, who wished to draw him in to be their partners 
at play — still more flattered by those who wished to 
engage him as a lover — most of all flattered by Dora. 
He felt his danger. Improved in coquetry by Parisian 
practice and power, Dora tried her utmost skill — she 
played oflF with great dexterity her various admirers 
to excite his jealousy ; the Marquis de Beauheu, the witty 
marquis, and the Count de Belle Chasse, the irresistible 
count, were dangerous rivals. She succeeded in exciting 



352 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Ormond's jealousy ; but in his noble mind there were 
strong opposing principles to withstand his selfish 
gratification. It was surprising with what politeness 
to each other, with how little love, all the suitors 
carried on this game of gallantry and competition of 
vanity. 

Till Ormond appeared, it had been the general opinion 
that before the end of the winter or the spring, the Count 
de Belle Chasse would be triumphant. Why Ormond 
did not enter the lists, when there appeared to all the 
judges such a chance of his winning the prize, seemed 
incomprehensible to the spectators, and still more to 
the rival candidates. Some settled it with the exclama- 
tion " Inoui ! " Others pronounced that it was English 
bizarrerie. Everything seemed to smooth the slippery 
path of temptation — the indiflFerence of her husband — 
the imprudence of her aunt, and the sophistry of Madame 
de Clairville — the general customs of French society — 
the peculiar profligacy of the society into which he hap- 
pened to be thrown — the opinion which he saw prevailed, 
that if he withdrew from the competition a rival would 
immediately profit by his forbearance, conspired to 
weaken his resolution. 

Many accidental circumstances concurred to increase 
the danger. At these balls, to which he went originally 
to avoid Dora in smaller parties, Madame de Connal, 
though she constantly appeared, seldom danced. She 
did not dance well enough to bear comparison with 
French dancers ; Ormond was in the same situation. 
The dancing which was very well in England would not 
do in Paris — no late lessons could, by any art, bring them 
to an equahty with French nature. 

" Ah, il ne danse pas ! — He dances like an Englishman.*' 



ORMOND IN PARIS. 353 

At the first ball this comforted the suitors, and most the 
Comte de Belle Chasse ; but this very circumstance drew 
Ormond and Dora closer together — she pretended 
headaches, and languor, and lassitude, and, in short, 
sat still. 

But it was not to be expected that the Comte de Belle 
Chasse could give up dancing ; the Comte de Belle 
Chasse danced like le dieu de la danse, another Vestris ; 
he danced every night, and Ormond sat and talked to 
Dora, for it was his duty to attend Madame when the 
little Abbe was out of the way. 

The spring was now appearing, and the spring is 
delightful in Paris, and the promenades in the Champs 
Elysees, and in the Bois de Boulogne, and the promenade 
in Long-Champ, commenced. Riding was just coming 
into high fashion with the French ladies ; and, instead 
of riding in men's clothes, and like a man, it was now 
the ambition de monter a cheval a TAngloise : to ride 
on a side-saddle and in an English riding habit was now 
the ambition. Now, Dora though she could not dance 
as well, could ride better than any French woman ; and 
she was ambitious to show herself and her horsemanship 
in the Bois de Boulogne ; but she had no horse that she 
liked. Le Comte de Belle Chasse offered to get one broke 
for her at the king's riding-house — this she refused ; 
but fortunately Ormond, as was the custom with the 
English at that time, had, after his arrival, some English 
horses brought over to him at Paris. Among these was 
the horse he had once broke for Dora. 

For this an English side-saddle was procured — she was 
properly equipped and mounted. 

And the two friends, le bel Irlandois, as they persisted 
in calling Ormond, and la belle Irlandoise, and their 

CI 



354 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

horses, and their horsemanship^ were the admiration of 
the promenade. 

The Comte de Belle Chasse sent to London for an 
English horse at any price. He was out of humour — 
and Ormond in the finest humour imaginable. Dora 
was grateful ; her horse was a beautiful, gentle-spirited 
creature ; it was called Harry — it was frequently patted 
and caressed, and told how much it was valued and 
loved. 

Ormond was now in great danger, because he felt 
himself secure that he was only a friend — Vami de la 
maison. 

Ormond and Dora were drifting into a dangerous intimacy, 
when he was recalled to his senses by the sight of a lock of King 
Corny 's grey hair in a ring on her hand. Meanwhile he had been 
visited by Patrickson, an agent of Sir Ulick, with a request for a 
more extensive power of attorney, which he signed without sus- 
picion. 



MORIARTY'S ADVENTURES IN PRISON. 

The next day, as Ormond was returning to Madame de 
Connal's with the firm intention of adhering to the 
honourable line of conduct he had traced out for himself, 
just as he was crossing the Pont Neuf, some one ran full 
against him. Surprised at what happens so seldom 
in the streets of Paris, where all meet, pass, or cross in 
crowds with magical celerity and address, he looked back, 
and at the same instant the person who had passed looked 
back also. An apparition in broad daylight could not 
have surprised Ormond more than the sight of this person. 



\ 



moriarty's adventures in prison. 355 

'' Could it be-x:ould it possibly be Moriarty O 'Carroll, 
on the Pont Neuf in Paris ? " 

'* By the blessing, then, it's the man himself— Master 
Harry !— though I didn't know him through the French 
disguise. Oh ! master, then, I've been tried and cast, 
and all but hanged— sentenced to Botany— transported 
anyway— for a robbery I didn't commit— since I saw 
you last. But your honour's uneasy, and it's not proper, 
I know, to be stopping a jantleman in the street ; but I 
have a word to say that will bear no delay, not a minute." 
Ormond's surprise and curiosity increased— he desired 
Moriarty to follow him. 

** And now, Moriarty, what is it you have to say ? " 
" It is a long story, then, plase your honour. I was 
transported to Botany, though innocent. But first and 
foremost for what consarns your honour first." 

'' First," said Ormond, " if you were transported how 
came you here ? " 

*' Because I was not transported, plase your honour — 
only sentenced— for I escaped from Kilmainham, where 
I was sent to be put on board the tender ; but I got on 
board of an American ship, by the help of a friend— 
and this ship being knocked against the rocks, I came 
safe ashore in this country on one of the sticks of the 
vessel ; so when I knowed it was France I was in, and 
recollected Miss Dora that was married in Paris, I thought 
if I could just make my way anyhows to Paris, she'd 
befriend me in case of need. 

,, .**^But, dear master," said Moriarty, interrupting, 
" it's a folly to talk— I'll not tell you a word more of myself 
till you hear the news I have for you. The worst news 
I have to tell you is, there is great fear of the breaking 
of Sir Ulick's bank! " 



3S6 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

'* The breaking of Sir Ulick's bank ? I heard from 
him the day before yesterday.'* 

** Maybe you did ; but the captain of the American 
ship in which I came was complaining of his having been 
kept two hours at that bank, where they were paying 
large sums in small notes, and where there was the 
greatest run upon the house that ever was seen." 

Ormond instantly saw his danger — he recollected the 
power of attorney he had signed two days before. But 
Patrickson was to go by Havre de Grace — that would 
delay him. It was possible that Ormond by setting out 
instantly might get to London time enough to save his 
property. He went directly and ordered post horses. 
He had no debts in Paris, nothing to pay but for his 
stables and lodging. He had a faithful servant whom he 
could leave behind to make all necessary arrangements. 

" You are right, jewel, to be in a hurry," said Carroll. 
" But sure you won't leave poor Moriarty behind ye 
here in distress, when he has no friend in the wide 
world but yourself ? " 

" Tell me, in the first place, Moriarty, are you inno- 
cent ? " 

" Upon my conscience, master, I am perfectly innocent 
as the child unborn, both of the murder and the robbery. 
If your honour will give me leave, I'll tell you the whole 
story." 

" That will be a long affair, Moriarty, if you talk out of 
the facey as you used to do. I will, however, find an 
opportunity to hear it all. But, in the meantime, stay 
where you are till I return." 

Ormond went instantly to Connal's to inform him 
of what had happened. His astonishment was obviously 
mixed with disappointment. But to do him justice, 



moriarty's adventures in prison. 357 

besides the interest which he really had in the preserva- 
tion of the fortune, he felt some personal regard for 
Ormond himself. 

" What shall we do without you ? " said he. " I assure 
you, Madame and I have never been so happy together 
since the first month after our marriage as wc have been 
since you came to Paris." 

Connal was somewhat consoled by hearing Ormond 
say that if he were time enough in London to save his 
fortune, he proposed returning immediately to Paris, 
intending to make the tour of Switzerland and Italy. 

Connal had no doubt that they should yet be able to 
fix him at Paris. 

Madame de Connal and Mademoiselle were out — 
Connal did not know where they were gone. Ormond 
was glad to tear himself away with as few adieus as 
possible. He got into his travelling carriage, put his 
servant on the box, and took Moriarty with him in the 
carriage, that he might relate his history at leisure. 

" Plase your honour," said Moriarty, " Mr. Marcus 
never missed any opportunity of showing me ill-will. 
The supercargo of the ship that was cast away, when you 
were with Sir Herbert Annaly, God rest his soul ! came 
down to the sea-side to look for some of the things that 
he had lost ; the day after he came, early in the morning, 
his horse, and bridle, and saddle, and a surtout coat, 
was found in a lane, near the place where we lived, and 
the supercargo was never heard any more of. Suspicion 
fell upon many — the country rung with the noise that was 
made about this murder — and at last I was taken up for it, 
because people had seen me buy cattle at the fair, and the 
people would not believe it was with money your honour 
sent me by the good parson — for the parson was gone out 



358 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

of the country, and I had nobody to stand my friend ; 
for Mr. Marcus was on the grand jury, and the sheriff 
was his friend, and Sir UHck was in DubUn, at the bank. 
Howsomdever, after a long trial, which lasted the whole 
day, a 'cute lawyer on my side found out that there was 
no proof that anybody had been murdered, and that a 
man might lose his horse, his saddle, and his bridle, 
and his big coat, without being kilt ; so that the judge 
ordered the jury to let me off for the murder. They 
then tried me for the robbery ; and sure enough that went 
again me ; for a pair of silver-mounted pistols, with the 
man's name engraved upon them, was found in my house. 
They knew the man's name by the letters in the big coat. 
The judge asked me what I had to say for myself 
* My lard,' says I, ' those pistols were brought into my 
house about a fortnight ago by a little boy, one little 
Tommy Dunshaughlin, who found them in a punk- 
horn, at the edge of a bog-hole.' 

" The jidge favoured me more than the jury — for he 
asked how old the boy was, and whether I could produce 
him ? The little fellow was brought into court, and it 
was surprising how clear he told his story. The jidge 
listened to the child, young as he was. But M^Crule 
was on the jury, and said that he knew the child to be as 
cunning as any in Ireland, and that he would not believe 
a word that came out of his mouth. So the short and the 
long of it was, I was condemned to be transported. 

** It would have done you good, if you'd heard the cry 
in the court when sentence was given, for I was loved in 
the country. Poor Peggy and Sheelah ! — But I'll not 
be troubhng your honour's tender heart with our parting. 
I was transmuted to DubHn, to be put on board the tender, 
and lodged in Kilmainham, waiting for the ship that was 



MORIARTY S ADVENTURES IN PRISON. 359 

to go to Botany. I had not been long there, when 
another prisoner was brought to the same room with me. 
He was a handsome-looking man, about thirty years of 
age, of the most penetrating eye and determined counten- 
ance that I ever saw. He appeared to be worn down 
with ill-health, and his limbs much swelled ; notwith- 
standing which, he had strong handcuffs on his wrists, 
and he seemed to be guarded with uncommon care. 
He begged the turnkey to lay him down upon the miser- 
able iron bed that was in the cell ; and he begged him, 
for God's sake, to let him have a jug of water by his 
bedside, and to leave him to his fate. 

" I could not help pitying this poor cratur ; I went 
to him, and offered him any assistance in my power. 
He answered me shortly, * What are you here for ? ' — 
I told him. ' Well,' says he, * whether you are guilty 
or not is your affair, not mine ; but answer me at once — 
Are you a good man? — Can you go through with a thing ? 
— and are you steel to the back-bone ? ' — ' I am,' said I. 
' Then,' said he, * you are a lucky man — for he that is 
talking to you is Michael Dunne, who knows how to make 
his way out of any jail in Ireland.' Saying this he 
sprung with great activity from the bed. * It is my cue,' 
said he, ' to be sick and weak, whenever the turnkey 
comes in, to put him off his guard, for they have all orders 
to watch me strictly ; because as how, do you see, I broke 
out of the jail of Trim ; and when they catched me, they 
took me before his honour the police magistrate, who did 
all he could to get out of me the way which I made my 
escape. ' Well,' says the magistrate, ' I'll put you in a 
place where you can't get out — till you're sent to Botany.' 
* Plase your worship,' says I, * if there's no offence in 
saying it, there's no such place in Ireland,' — * No such 



360 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

place as what ? ' * No such place as will hold Michael 
Dunne.' — ' What do you think of Kilmainham ? ' says 
he. * I think it's a fine jail — and it will be no asy matter 
to get out of it — but it is not impossible.' — * Well, Mr. 
Dunne,' said the magistrate, * I have heard of your fame, 
and that you have secrets of your own for getting out. 
Now, if you'll tell me how you got out of the jail of Trim, 
I'll make your confinement at Kilmainham as asy as 
may be, so as to keep you safe ; and if you do not, you 
must be ironed, and I will have sentinels from an English 
regiment, who shall be continually changed ; so that you 
can't get any of them to help you.' — * Plase your wor- 
ship,' said Dunne, * that's very hard usage ; but I know 
as how that you are going to build new jails all over 
Ireland, and that you'd be glad to know the best way 
to make them secure. If your worship will promise me 
that if I get out of Kilmainham, and if I tell you how I do 
it, then you'll get me a free pardon, I'll try hard but what 
before three months are over I'll be a prisoner at large.' — 
* That's more than I can promise you,' said the magis- 
trate ; * but if you will disclose to me the best means of 
keeping other people in, I will endeavour to keep you 
from Botany Bay.' — * Now, sir,' says Dunne, * I know 
your worship to be a man of honour, and that your own 
honour regards yourself, and not me ; so that if I was 
ten times as bad as I am, you'd keep your promise 
with me, as well as if I was the best gentleman in Ireland. 
So that now, Mr. Moriarty,' said Dunne, * do you see, 
if I get out, I shall be safe ; and if you get out along with 
me you have nothing to do but to go over to America. 
i\nd if you are a married man, and tired of your wife, 
you'll get rid of her. If you are not tired of her, and you 
have any substance, she may sell it and follow you.' 



moriarty's adventures in prison. 361 

" There was something, Master Harry, about the man 
that made me have great confidence in him — and I was 
ready to follow his advice. Whenever the turnkey was 
coming he was groaning and moaning on the bed. At 
other times he made me keep bathing his wrists with cold 
water, so that in three or four days they were not half 
the size they were at first. This change he kept carefully 
from the jailer. I observed that he frequently asked 
what day of the month it was, but that he never made any 
attempt to speak to the sentinels ; nor did he seem to 
make any preparation, or to lay any scheme for getting 
out. I held my tongue, and waited qui'tely. At last, 
he took out of his pocket a little flageolet, and began to 
play upon it. He asked me if I could play ; I said I 
could a little, but very badly. * I don't care how bad it 
is, if you can play at all.' He got oflF the bed where he 
was lying, and with the utmost ease pulled his hands 
out of his handcuflFs. Besides the swelling of his wrists 
having gone down, he had some method of getting rid 
of his thumb that I never could understand. Says I, 
* Mr. Dunne, the jailer will miss the fetters. — * No,' 
said he, * for I will put them on again ' ; and so he did, 
with great ease. * Now,' said he, * it is time to begin our 
work.' 

** He took off" one of his shoes, and taking out the in- 
sole, he showed me a hole that was cut where the heel was, 
in which there was a little small flat bottle, which he told 
me was the most precious thing in life. And under the 
rest of the sole there were a number of saws, made of 
watch spring, that lay quite flat and snug under his foot. 
The next time the turnkey came in, he begged, for the love 
of God, to have a pipe and some tobacco, which was 
accordingly granted to him. What the pipes and tobacco 



362 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

were for I could not then guess, but they were found 
to be useful. He now made a paste of some of the bread 
of his allowance,, with which he made a cup round the 
bottom of one of the bars of the window ; into this cup 
he poured some of the contents of the little bottle, which 
was, I believe, oil of vitriol ; in a little time this made a 
bad smell, and it was then I found the use of the pipe 
and tobacco, for the smell of the tobacco quite bothered 
the smell of the vitriol. When he thought he had 
softened the iron bar sufficiently, he began to work away 
with the saws, and he soon taught me how to use them ; so 
that we kept working on continually, no matter how little 
we did at a time ; but as we were constantly at it, what I 
thought never could be done was finished in three or 
four days. The use of the flageolet was to drown the 
noise of the filing ; for when one filed, the other piped. 

** When the bar was cut through, he fitted the parts 
nicely together, and covered them over with rust. He 
proceeded in the same manner to cut out another bar ; 
so that we had a free opening out of the window. Our 
cell was at the very top of the jail, so that even to look 
down to the ground was terrible. 

'' Under various pretences, we had got an unusual 
quantity of blankets on our beds ; these he examined with 
the utmost care, as upon their strength our lives were to 
depend. We calculated with great coolness the breadth 
of the strips into which he might cut the blankets, so 
as to reach from the window to the ground ; allowing 
for the knots by which they were to be joined, and for 
other knots that were to hinder the hands and feet from 
slipping. 

'* * Now,' said he, ' Mr. Moriarty, all this is quite asy, 
and requires noticing but a determined heart and a sound 



MORI Arty's adventures in prisoin. 363 

head ; but the difficulty is to baffle the sentinel that is 
below, and who is walking backward and forward con- 
tinually, day and night, under the window ; and there 
is another, you see, in a sentry-box at the door of the 
yard ; and, for all I know, there may be another sentinel 
at the other side of the wall. Now, these men are never 
twice on the same duty ; I have friends enough out of 
doors, who have money enough, and would have talked 
reason to them ; but as these sentinels are changed every 
day, no good can be got of them ; but stay till to-morrow 
night, and we'll try what we can do/ 

** I was determined to follow him. The next night, 
the moment that we were locked in for the night, we set 
to work to cut the blankets into slips, and tied them 
together with great care. We put this rope round one 
of the fixed bars of the window ; and, pulling at each knot, 
we satisfied ourselves that every part was sufficiently 
strong. Dunne looked frequently out of the window 
with the utmost anxiety — it was a moonlight night. 

** * The moon,' said he, * will be down in an hour and 
a half.' 

" In a little while we heard the noise of several girls 
singing at a distance from the windows, and we could see, 
as they approached, that they were dancing, and making 
free with the sentinels ; I saw that they were provided 
with bottles of spirits, with which they pledged the 
deluded soldiers. By degrees the sentinels forgot their 
duty ; and, by the assistance of some laudanum contained 
in some of the spirits, they were left senseless on the 
ground. The whole of this plan, and the very night and 
hour, had been arranged by Dunne with his associates, 
before he was put into Kilmainham. The success of 
this scheme, which was totally unexpected by me. 



364 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

gave me, I suppose, plase your honour, fresh courage. 
He, very honourably, gave me the choice to go down 
first or to follow him. I was ashamed not to go first ; 
after I had got out of the window, and had fairly hold of 
the rope, my fear diminished, and I went cautiously down 
to the bottom. Here I waited for Dunne, and we both 
of us silently stole along in the dark, for the moon had 
gone in, and we did not meet with the least obstruction. 
Our out of door's assistants had the prudence to get 
entirely out of sight. Dunne led me to a hiding-place 
in a safe part of the town, and committed me to the care 
of a seafaring man, who promised to get me on board 
an American ship. 

" * As for my part,' said Dunne, * I will go in the 
morning, boldly, to the magistrate, and claim his promise.' 

** He did so — and the magistrate, with good sense and 
good faith, kept his promise, and obtained a pardon for 
Dunne. 

" I wrote to Peggy, to get aboard an American ship. 
I was cast away on the coast of France — made my way 
to the first religious house that I could hear of, where I 
luckily found an Irishman, who saved me from starvation, 
and who sent me on from convent to convent, till I got 
to Paris, where your honour met me on that bridge, 
just when I was looking for Miss Dora's house. And 
that's all I've got to tell," concluded Moriarty, '' and all 
true." 



THE END OF SIR ULiCK. 365 



THE END OF SIR ULICK. 

On Ormond's landing in Dublin, the first news he 
heard, and it was repeated a hundred times in a quarter 
of an hour, was that '' Sir Ulick O'Shane was bankrupt — 
that his bank shut up yesterday/' It was a public cala- 
mity, a source of private distress, that reached lower 
and farther than any bankruptcy had ever done in 
Ireland. Ormond heard of it from every tongue, it was 
written in every face — in every house it was the subject 
of lamentation, of invective. In every street, poor men, 
with ragged notes in their hands, were stopping to pore 
over the names at the back of the notes, or hurrying to 
and fro, looking up at the shop-windows for ** half price 
given here for O' Shane's notes.'' Groups of people, of all 
ranks, gathered — ^stopped — dispersed, talking of Sir 
Ulick O'Shane's bankruptcy — their hopes — ^their fears — 
their losses — their ruin — ^their despair — their rage. 
Some said it was all owing to Sir Ulick 's shameful ex- 
travagance : ** His house in Dublin fit for a duke ! — 
Castle Hermitage full of company to the last week — 
balls — dinners — the most expensive luxuries — scanda- 
lous ! " 

Others accused Sir Ulick's absurd speculations. Many 
pronounced the bankruptcy to be fraudulent, and asserted 
that an estate had been made over to Marcus, who would 
live in affluence on the ruin of the creditors. 

At Sir Ulick's house in town every window-shutter 
was closed. Oimond rang and knocked in vain — not 
that he wished to see Sir Ulick — no, he would not have 



366 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

intruded on his misery for the world ; but Ormond 
longed to inquire from the servants how things w^ere with 
him. No servant could be seen. Ormond went to Sir 
Ulick's bank. Such crowds of people filled the street 
that it was with the utmost difficulty, and after a great 
working of elbows, that in an hour or two he made his 
way to one of the barred windows. There was a place 
where notes were handed in and accepted^ as they called 
it, by the clerks, who thus for the hour soothed and 
pacified the sufferers, with the hopes that this acceptance 
would be good, and would stand in stead at some future 
day. They were told that when things should come to 
a settlement, all would be paid. There was property 
enough to satisfy the creditors, when the commissioners 
should look into it. Sir Ulick would pay all honourably 
— as far as possible — fifteen shillings in the pound, or 
certainly ten shillings — the accepted notes would pass 
for that anywhere. The crowd pressed closer and closer, 
arms crossing over each other to get notes in at the 
window, the clerks' heads appearing and disappearing. 
It was said they were laughing while they thus deluded 
the people. 

All the intelligence that Ormond, after being nearly 
suffocated, could obtain from any of the clerks, was, that 
Sir Ulick was in the country. '' They believed at Castle 
Hermitage — could not be certain — had no letters from 
him to-day — ^he was ill when they heard last — ^so ill 
he could do no business — confined to his bed.'' 

The people in the street hearing these answers replied, 
** Confined in his bed, is he ? — In the jail it should be, 
as many will be along of him. Ill, is he. Sir UHck ? — 
Sham sickness, maybe — all his life a sham.'' All these 
and innumerable other taunts and imprecations with which 



THE END OF SIR ULICK. 367 

the poor people vented their rage, Ormond heard as he 
made his way out of the crowd. 

Of all who had suffered, he who had probably lost the 
most, and who certainly had been on the brink of losing 
the greatest part of what he possessed, was the only 
individual who uttered no reproach. 

He was impatient to get down to Castle Hermitage, 
and if he found that Sir Ulick had acted fairly, to be some 
comfort to him, to be with him at least when deserted 
by all the rest of the world. 

At all the inns upon the road, as he went from Dublin 
to Castle Hermitage, even at the villages where he stopped 
to water the horses, every creature, down to the hostlers, 
were talking of the bankruptcy — and abusing Sir UHck 
O'Shane and his son. The curses that were deep, 
not loud, were the worst — and the faces of distress worse 
than all. Gathering round his carriage, wherever it 
stopped, the people questioned him and his servants 
about the news, and then turned away, saying they 
were ruined. The men stood in unutterable despair. 
The women crying, loudly bewailed '' their husbands, 
their sons, that must waste in the jail or fly the country ; 
for what should they do for the rents that had been 
made up in Sir Ulick's notes, and no good now ? " 

Ormond felt the more on hearing these complaints, 
from his sense of the absolute impossibility of relieving 
the universal distress. 

He pursued his melancholy journey, and took Moriarty 
into the carriage with him, that he might not be recog- 
nized on the road. 

When he came within sight of Castle Hermitage, he 
stopped at the top of the hill at a cottage, where many a 
time in his boyish days he had rested with Sir Ulick out 



368 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

hunting. The mistress of the house, now an old woman, 
came to the door. 

** Master Harry, dear ! " cried she, when she saw who 
it was. But the sudden flash of joy in her old face was 
over in an instant. 

** But did you hear it ? " cried she, " and the great 
change it caused him — poor Sir Ulick O'Shane ? I went 
up widi eggs on purpose to see him, but could only hear — 
he was in his bed — wasting with trouble — ^nobody knows 
anything more — all is kept hush and close. Mr. Marcus 
took off" all he could rap, and ran, even to " 

" Well, well, I don't want to hear of Marcus — can you 
tell me whether Dr. Cambray is come home ? " 

" Not expected to come till Monday." 

** Are you sure ? " 

** Oh ! not a morning but Fm there the first thing, 
asking, and longing for them." 

" Lie back, Moriarty, in the carriage, and pull your hat 
over your face," whispered Ormond ; " postilions, drive 
on to that little cabin, with the trees about it, at the foot 
of the hill " ; this was Moriarty's cabin. When they 
stopped poor Peggy was called out. Alas ! how altered 
from the dancing, sprightly, blooming girl, whom 
Ormond had known so few years since in the Black 
Islands ! How different from the happy wife, whom 
he had left, comfortably settled in a cottage suited to her 
station and her wishes ! She was thin, pale, and haggard 
— her dress was neglected — an ill-nursed child that she 
had in her arms she gave to a young girl near her. Ap- 
proaching the carriage, and seeing Harry Ormond, 
she seemed ready to sink into the earth ; however, 
after having drank some water, she recovered sufficiently 
to be able to answer Ormond 's inquiries. 



. THE END OF SIR ULICK. 369 

" What do you intend to do, Peggy ? " 

" Do, sir ! — go to America, to join my husband, sure ; 
everything was to have been sold, Monday last — but 
nobody has any money — and I am tould it will cost a 
great deal to get across the sea." 

At this she burst into tears and cried most bitterly ; 
and at this moment the carriage door flew open — 
Moriarty's impatience could be no longer restrained — 
lie flung himself into the arms of his wife. 

Leaving this happy and innocent couple to enjoy their 
felicity, we proceed to Castle Hermitage. 

Ormond directed the postilions to go the back way to 
the house. They drove down the old avenue. 

Presently they saw a boy, who seemed to be standing 
on the watch, run back towards the castle, leaping over 
hedge and ditch with desperate haste. Then came 
running from the house three men, calling to one another 
to shut the gates for the love of God ! 

They all ran towards the gateway through which the 
postilions were going to drive, reached it just as the 
foremost horses turned, and flung the gate full against 
the horses' heads. The men, without looking or caring, 
went on locking the gate. 

Ormond jumped out of the carriage at the sight of 

iiim, the padlock fell from the hand of the man who 
held it. 

" Master Harry himself ! — and is it you ? — We ask 
your pardon, your honour.*' 

The men were three of Sir Ulick's workmen — Ormond 
forbade the carriage to follow. ** For perhaps you are 
afraid of the noise disturbing Sir Ulick ? '* said he. 

" No, plase your honour,*' said the foremost man, 
** it will not disturb him — as well let the carriage come 

DI 



370 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

on — only," whispered he, ** best to send the hack posti- 
lions with their horses always to the inn, afore they'd 
learn anything." 

Ormond walked on quickly, and as soon as he was 
out of hearing of the postiUons again asked the men, 
" Vv^hat news ?— how is Sir Ulick ? " 

" Poor gentleman ! he has had a deal of trouble — 
and no help for him," said the man. 

'* Better tell him plain," whispered the next. ** Master 
Harry, Sir UUck O'Shane's trouble is over in this world, 



sir." 



Is he- 



" Dead, he is, and cold, and in his cofEn — this minute 
— and thanks be to God, if he is safe there even from 
them that are on the watch to seize on his body ! — 
in the dread of them creditors, orders were given to 
keep the gates locked. He is dead since Tuesday, sir — 
but hardly one knows it out of the castle — except us." 

Ormond walked on silently, while they followed, 
talking at intervals. 

** There is a very great cry against him, sir, I hear, 
in Dublin — and here in the country, too," said one. 

** The distress, they say, is very great, he caused ; 
but they might let his body rest anyway — what good 
can that do them ? " 

" Bad or good, they shan't touch it," said the other ; 
" by the blessing, we shall have him buried safe in the 
morning, afore they are stirring. We shall carry the 
coffin through the underground passage, that goes to 
the stables, and out by the lane to the churchyard asy — 
and the gentleman, the clergyman, has notice all will be 
ready, and the housekeeper only attending." 

" Oh ! the pitiful funeral," said the eldest of the men, 



THE END OF SIR ULICK. 37I 

" the pitiful funeral for Sir Ulick O'Shane, that was 
born to better." 

'* Well, we can only do the best we can," said the other, 
** let what will happen to ourselves ; for Sir Marcus 
said he wouldn't take one of his father's notes from any 
of us." 

Ormond involuntarily felt for his purse. 

** Oh ! don't be bothering the gentleman, don't be 
talking," said the old man. 

** This way, Master Harry, if you please, sir, the 
underground way to the back yard. We keep all close 
till after the burying, for fear — that was the housekeeper's 
order. Sent all off to Dublin when Sir Ulick took to 
his bed, and Lady Norton went off." 

Ormond refrained from asking any questions about 
his illness, fearing to inquire into the manner of his 
death. He walked on more quickly and silently. 
When they were going through the dark passage, one 
of the men, in a low voice, observed to Mr. Ormond 
that the housekeeper would tell him all about it. 

When they got to the house, the housekeeper and Sir 
Ulick's man appeared, seeming much surprised at the 
sight of Mr. Ormond. They said a great deal about 
the unfortunate events and their own sorrow and distress ; 
but Ormond saw that theirs were only the long faces, 
dismal tones, and outward show of grief. They were 
just a common housekeeper and gentleman's gentleman, 
neither worse nor better than ordinarv servants in a 
great house. Sir Ulick had only treated them as such. 

The housekeeper, without Ormond's asking a single 
question, went on to tell him that ** Castle Hermitage 
was as full of company, even to the last week, as ever 
it could hold, and all as grand as ever ; the first people 



372 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

in Ireland — champagne and burgundy, and ices, and all 
as usual — and a ball that very week. Sir Ulick was very 
considerate, and sent Lady Norton off to her other friends ; 
he took ill suddenly that night with a great pain in his 
head ; he had been writing hard, and in great trouble, 
and he took to his bed, and never rose from it — he was 
found by Mr. Dempsey, his own man, dead in his bed 
in the morning — died of a broken heart, to be sure ! — 
Poor gentleman ! — Some people in the neighbourhood 
was mighty busy talking how the coroner ought to be 
sent for ; but that blew over, sir. But then we were in 
dread of the seizure of the body for debt, so the gates 
was kept locked ; and now you know all we know about it, 
sir." 

Ormond said he would attend the funeral. There was 
no attempt to seize upon the body ; only the three work- 
men, the servants, a very few of the cottagers, and Harry 
Ormond, attended to the grave the body of the once 
popular Sir Ulick O'Shane. This was considered by 
the country people as the greatest of all the misfortunes 
that had befallen him ; the lowest degradation to which 
an O'Shane could be reduced. They compared him 
with King Corny, and " see the difference ! " said they ; 
** the one was the true thing, and never charged — and 
after all, where is the great friends now ? — the quality 
that used to be entertained at the castle above ? Where 
is all the favour promised him now ? What is it come 
to ? See, with all his wit, and the schemes upon schemes, 
broke and gone, and forsook and forgot, and buried 
without a funeral, or a tear, but from Master Harry." 

Ormond was surprised to hear, in the midst of many of 
their popular superstitions and prejudices, how justly 
they estimated Sir Ulick's abilities and character. 



THE END OF SIR ULICK. 373 

As the men filled up his grave, one of them said, 
** There lies the making of an excellent gentleman — 
but the cunning of his head spoiled the goodness of his 
heart." 

The day after the funeral an agent came from Dublin 
to settle Sir Ulick O 'Shane's affairs in the country. 

On opening his desk, the first thing that appeared was 
a bundle of accounts, and a letter, directed to H. Ormond, 
Esq. He took it to his own room and read : — 

" Ormond, 

" I intended to employ your money to re-establish my 
falling credit, but I never intended to defraud you. 

" Ulick O'Shane." 

The misunderstanding with Florence Annaly did not survive 
their meeting, and Ormond, buying the Black Islands from de 
Connal, settled down to married happiness. 



374 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 



CONNEMARA: A LETTER TO PAKENHAM 
EDGEWORTH. {Slightly Abridged.) 

March 8, 1834. 

Ever since I finished my last to you I have had my 
head so immersed in accounts that I have never been able 
till this moment to fulfil my intention of giving you my 
travels in Connemara. 

I travelled with Sir Culling and Lady Smith (Isabella 
Carr). Sir Culling, of old family, large fortune and great 
philanthropy, extending to poor little Ireland and her 
bogs, and her Connemara, and her penuldmate barony of 
Erris and her ultimate Giants' Causev^ay, and her beauti- 
ful lake of Killarney. And all these things he determined 
to see. Infant and nurse, and lady's maid, and gentle- 
man's gentleman, and Sir Culling and the fair Isabella 
all came over to Ireland last September, just as Fanny 
had left us, and she meeting them in Dublin, and conceiv- 
ing that nurse and baby would not do for Connemara, 
wrote confidentially to beg us to invite them to stay at 
Edgeworthstown, while father and mother, and maid 
and man, were to proceed on their travels. Sir Culling 
expected to have had all manner of information as to 
roads, distances, and time, but Mrs. Edgeworth not being 
at home, and Miss Edgeworth 's local knowledge being 
such as you know, you may guess how he was disap- 
pointed. Mr. Shaw and the Dean of Ardagh, who dined 
with him here, gave him directions as far as Ballinasloe 
and a letter to the clergyman there. The fair of Ballina- 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 375 

sloe was just beginning, and Sir Culling was determined 
to see that, and from thence, after studying the map of 
Ireland and road-books one evening, he thought he should 
get easily to Connemara, Westport, and the Barony of 
Erris, see all that in a week, and come back to Edgeworths- 
town, take up Bambino and proceed on a northern or a 
southern tour. 

You will be surprised that I should — seeing they knew 
so little what they were about — have chosen to travel with 
them ; and I confess it was imprudent and very unlike 
my usual dislike to leave home without any of my own 
people with me. But upon this occasion I fancied I 
should see all I wanted to see of the wonderful ways of 
going on and manners of the natives better for not being 
with any of my own family, and especially for its not 
being suspected that I was an authoress and might put 
them in a book. In short, I thought it was the best 
opportunity I could ever have of seeing a part of Ireland 
which, from time immemorial, I had been curious to see; 
My curiosity had been raised even when I first came 
to Ireland fifty years ago, by hearing my father talk of 
the King of Connemara, and his immense territory, and 
his ways of ruling over his people with almost absolute 
power, with laws of his own, and setting all other laws at 
defiance. Smugglers and caves, and murders and mer- 
maids, and duels, and banshees, and fairies, were all 
mingled together in my early associations with Conne- 
mara and Dick Martin — " Hair-trigger Dick," who cared 
so little for his own life or the life of man, and so much 
for the life of animals, who fought more duels than any 
man of even his ** Blue-blaze-devil '' day, and who 
brought the bill into ParHament for preventing cruelty to 
animals ; thenceforward changing his cognomen from 



376 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

** Hair-trigger Dick ' to " Humanity Martin.'' He was 
my father's contemporary, and he knew a number of anec- 
dotes of him. Too besides, I once saw him, and remember 
that my blood crept slow and my breath was held when 
he first came info the room — a pale, little, insignificant- 
looking mortal he was, but he still kept hold of my 
imagination, and his land of Connemara was always 
a land I longed to visit. Long afterwards, a book which 
I believe you read, Letters from the Irish Highlands^ 
written by the family of Blakes of Renvyle, raised my 
curiosity still further, and wakened it for new reasons 
in a new direction. Further and further and higher, 
Nimmo and William deepened my interest in that 
country, and, in short and at length, all these motives 
worked together. Add to them a book called Wild 
Sports of the Westy of which Harriet read to me all the 
readable parts till I rolled with laughing. Add also that I 
had lately heard Mr. Rothwell give a most entertaining 
account of a tour he had taken in Erris, and to the house 
of a certain Major Bingham, who must be the most 
diverting and extraordinary original upon earth — and 
shall I die without seeing him ? thought I — now or never. 
At the first suggestion I uttered that I should like to 
see him and Erris, and the wonders of Connemara, Lady 
Culling Smith and Sir Culling burst into delight at the 
thought of having me as their travelling companion, 
so it was all settled in a moment. Honora approved, 
Aunt Mary hoped it would all turn out to my satisfaction, 
and oflF we set with four horses mighty grand in their 
travelling carriage, which was a summer friend, open or 
half open. A half head stuck up immovable with a win- 
dow at each ear, an apron of wood, varnished to look like 
japanned leather, hinged at bottom, and having at top 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 377 

where it shuts a sort of fairy-board window, which lets 
down in desperately bad weather. 

Our first day was all prosperous and sunshine, and what 
Captain Beaufort would call plain sailing. To Bally- 
mahon the first stage. Do you remember Ballymahon, 
and the first sight of the gossamer in the hedges sparkling 
with dew, going there packed into the chaise with your 
four sisters and me to see the museum of a Mr. Smith, 
who had a Cellini cup and a Raphael plate, and minia- 
tures of Madame de Maintenon, and wonders innumer- 
able — but Sophy at this moment tells me that I am 
insisting upon your remembering things that happened 
before you were born, and that even Francis was only 
one year old at the time of this breakfast, and it was she 
herself who was so delighted with that first view of the 
gossamer in the glittering sunshine. 

But I shall never get on to Athlone, much less to 
Connemara. Of Athlone I have nothing to say but what 
you may learn from the Gazetteer, except that, while we 
were waiting in the antiquated inn there, while horses 
were changing, I espied a print hanging smoked over the 
chimney-piece, which to my connoisseur eyes seemed mar- 
vellously good, and upon my own judgment I proposed 
for it to the landlady, and bought it for five shillings 
(frame excepted) ; and when I had it out of the frame, 
and turned it round, I found my taste and judgment 
gloriously justified. It was from a picture of Vandyke's 
— the death of Belisarius ; and here it is now hanging 
up in the library, framed in satin wood, the admiration 
of all beholders, Barry Fox above all. 

But to proceed. It was no easy matter to get out of 
Athlone, for at the entrance to the old-fashioned, nar- 
rowest of narrow bridges we found ourselves wedged 



378 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

and blocked by drays and sheep, reaching at least a mile ; 

men cursing and swearing in Irish and English ; sheep 

baaing, and so terrified, that the shepherds were in 

transports of fear brandishing their crooks at our postilions, 

and the postilions in turn brandishing their whips on the 

impassive backs of the sheep. The cocked gold-edged 

hat of an officer appeared on horseback in the midst, 

and there was silence from all but the baaing sheep. 

He bowed to us ladies, or to our carriage and four, and 

assured us that he would see us safe out, but that it 

would be a work of time. While this work of time was 

going on, one pushed his way from behind, between sheep 

and the wheel on my side of the carriage, and putting 

in his head called out to me, " Miss Edge worth, if you 

are in it, my master's in town, and will be with you 

directly almost, with his best compliments. He learned 

from the landlady your name. He was in the inn that 

minute, receiving rents he is, if you will be kind enough 

to wait a minute, and not stir out of that,^^ 

Kind enough I was, for I could not help myself, if I 
had been ever so unkindly disposed towards my un- 
known friend. Up came, breathless, a well-known 
friend, Mr. Strickland. Introduced amidst the baaing 
of the sheep to my travelling companions, and, as well 
as I could make myself heard in the din, I made him 
understand where we were going next, and found, to 
my great satisfaction, that he would overtake us next 
day at Ballinasloe, if we could stay there next day ; and 
we could and must, for it was Sunday. I cannot tell you 
— and if I could you would think I exaggerated — how 
many hours we were in getting through the next ten 
miles ; the road being continually covered with sheep, 
thick as wool could pack, all coming from the sheep-fair 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 379 

of Ballinasloe, which, to Sir CulHng's infinite mortifica- 
tion, we now found had taken place the previous day. 
I am sure we could not have had a better opportunity 
and more leisure to form a sublime and just notion of 
the thousands and tens of thousands which must have 
been on the field of sale. This retreat of the ten thousand 
never could have been eflFected without the generalship 
of these wonderfully skilled shepherds, who, in case 
of any disorder among their troops, know how dexter- 
ously to take the offender by the left leg or the right leg 
with their crooks, pulling them back without ever break- 
ing a limb, and keeping them continually in their ranks 
on the weary, long march. 

We did not reach Ballinasloe till it was almost dark. 
There goes a story, you know, that no woman must ever 
appear at Ballinasloe Fair ; that she would be in imminent 
peril of her life from the mob. The daughters of Lord 
Clancarty, it was said, ** had tried it once, and scarce 
were saved by fate." Be this as it may, we were suffered 
to drive very quietly through the town ; and we went 
quite through it to the outskirts of scattered houses, and 
stopped at the door of the Vicarage. And well for us that 
we had a letter from the Dean of Ardagh to the Rev. 
Mr. Pounden, else we might have spent the night in the 
streets, or have paid guineas apiece for our beds, all five 
of us, for three nights. Mr. and Mrs. Pounden were the 
most hospitable of people, and they were put to a great 
trial — dinner just over, and that day had arrived un- 
expectedly one family of relations, and expectedly 
another, with children without end. And how they did 
stow them and us, to this hour I cannot conceive ; they 
had, to be sure, one bed-chamber in a house next door, 
Vv^hich, luckily, Lord and Lady Somebody had not arrived 



380 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

to occupy. Be it how it might, here we stayed till Monday; 
and on Sunday there was to be a charity sermon for the 
benefit of the schools, under the patronage of Lord and 
Lady Clancarty, and the sermon was preached by Arch- 
deacon Pakenham ; and after the sermon — an excellent 
sermon on the appropriate text of the good Samaritan — 
an immense crowd before the windows filled the fair 
green, and we went out to see. The crowd of good, 
very good-natured Irishmen, gentle and simple mixed, 
opened to let the ladies and English stranger in to see ; 
and fine horses and fine leaping we saw, over a loose wall 
built up for the purpose in the middle of the fair green ; 
and such shouting, and such laughing, and such hurraing 
for those that cleared and for those that missed. As for 
the rest of the cattle-fair, we lift on Monday morning 
before the thick of it came on. 

I forgot to tell you that on Sunday arrived Mr. Strick- 
land, and he with maps and road-books explained to Sir 
Culling where he should go, and how he was to accom- 
plish his objects. It was settled that we were to go to 
Loughrea, and to see certain ruins by going a few miles 
out of our way ; and this we accomplished, and actually 
did see, by an uncommonly fine sunset, the beautiful 
ruins of Clonmacnoise ; and we slept this night at Lough- 
rea, where we had been assured there was a capital inn, and 
may be it was, but the rats or the mice ran about my 
room so, and made such a noise in the holes of the floor, 
that I could not sleep, but was thankful they did not get 
on or into my bed. 

Next day to Galway, and still it was fine weather, and 
bright for the open carriage, and we thought it would 
always be so. Galway, wet or dry, and it was dry when I 
saw it, is the dirtiest town I ever saw, and the most 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 38 1 

desolate and idle-looking. As I had heard much from 
Captain Beaufort and Louisa of the curious Spanish 
buildings in Gal way, I was determined not to go through 
the town without seeing these ; so, as soon as we got 
to the inn, I summoned landlord and landlady, and begged 
to know the names of the principal families in the town. 
I thought I might chance to light upon somebody who 
could help us. In an old history of Galway which Mr. 
Strickland picked up from a stall at Ballinasloe, I found 
prints of some of the old buildings and names of the old 
families ; and the landlord having presented me with a 
list as long as an alderman's bill of fare of the names of 
the gentlemen and ladies of Galway, I pitched upon 
the name of a physician, a Dr. Veitch, of whom I had 
found a fine character in my book. He had been very 
good to the poor during a year of famine and fever. 
To him I wrote, and just as I had finished reading his 
panegyric to Lady Smith, in he walked ; and he proved 
to be an old acquaintance. He was formerly a surgeon 
in the army, and was quartered at Longford at the time 
of the rebellion ; remembered our all taking shelter 
there, how near my father was being killed by the mob, 
and how courageously he behaved. Dr. Veitch had 
received some kindness from him, and now he seemed 
anxious, thirty-five years afterwards, to return that 
kindness to me and my companions. He walked with 
us all over Galway, and showed us all that was worth 
seeing, from the new quay projecting^ and the new green 
Connemara marble-cutters' workshop, to the old Spanish 
houses with projecting roofs and piazza walks beneath ; 
and, wading through seas of yellow mud thick as stir- 
about, we went to see archways that had stood centuries, 
and above all to the old mayoralty house of that mayor 



3<i2 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

of Galway who hung his own son ; and we had the satis- 
faction of seeing the very window from which the fathei 
with his own hands hung his own son, and the black 
marble marrowbones and death's head, and inscription 
and date, 1493. I daresay you know the story ; it 
formed the groundwork very lately of a tragedy. The 
son had — from jealousy as the tragedy has it, from 
avarice according to the vulgar version — killed a Spanish 
friend ; and the father, a modern Brutus, condemns him, 
and then goes to comfort him. I really thought it worth 
while to wade through mud to see these awful old relics 
of other times and other manners. But, coming back 
again, at every turn it was rather disagreeable to have 
" fish " bawled into one's ears, and " fine flat fish " 
flapped in one's face. The fish-market was fresh supplied, 
and Galway is famous for John Dorees. ** A John Doree, 
ma'am, for eighteen-pence — a shilling — sixpence ! " A 
John Doree could not be had for guineas in London. 
Quin, the famous actor, wished he was all throat when 
he was eating a John Doree. But still it was not pleasant, 
at every turn and every crossing, to have ever so fine 
John Dorees flapped in one's face. Sir Culling bought 
one for sixpence, and it was put into the carriage ; and 
we took leave of Dr. Veitch. and left Galway. 

From Galway Sir Culhng was obliged to take job 
horses, as he was warned that we were entering a country 
where post horses were not to be found, and were never 
even heard of. Dr. Veitch bid us not think of entering 
Connemara this night. " You will have to send after me 
soon, if you don't take care. You have no idea of the 
places you are going mto, and that you may have to sleep 



in." 



The next place we were to go to, and where Dr. Veitch 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 383 

advised us to sleep, was Outerard, a small town or village, 
where he told us was an inn, or an hotel, as even in these 
out-of- the- world regions it is now called. It was but 
fifteen miles, and this with four horses was not two hours' 
drive ; and Sir Culling thought it would be sad waste 
of daylight to sleep at Outerard, for still he measured 
his expected rate of travelling by his Bath Road standard. 
Though we left Galway at three, we were not at Outer- 
ard till past seven, with our fine, fresh horses ; and 
excellent horses they really were, and well harnessed 
too, with well-accoutred postilions in dark blue jackets 
and good hats and boots, all proper, and an ugly little 
dog running joyously along with the horses. Outerard, 
as well as we could see it, was a pretty mountain-scattered 
village, with a pond and trees, and a sort of terrace-road, 
with houses and gardens on one side, and a lower road 
with pond and houses on the other. There is a spa at 
Outerard to which bettermost sort of people come in 
the season ; but this was not the season, and the place 
had that kind of desolate look, mixed with pretensions 
too, which a watering-place out of season always has. 
When we came to the hotel our hearts sank within us. 
Dusk as it was, there was light enough to guess, at first 
sight, that it would never do for sleeping — half covered 
with overgrown ivy, damp, forlorn, windows broken, 
shattered look all about it. With difficulty we got at the 
broken gate into the very small and dirty courtyard, 
where the four horses could hardly stand with the car- 
riage. Out came such a master and such a maid ! and 
such fumes of whiskey-punch and tobacco. Sir Culling 
got down from his barouche-seat to look if the house 
was practicable, but soon returned, shaking his head, and 
telling us in French that it was quite impossible ; and 



384 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

the master of the inn, with half threats, half laughter, 
assured us we should find no other place in Outerard. I 
inquired for the Priest's house. I was on the point of 
asking, *' Has the Priest any family ? '' but recollected 
myself in time, and asked whether the Priest's house was 
large enough to hold us. " Not an atom of room to spare 
in it, ma'am." Then I inquired for the Chief of the 
Police, the Clergyman, or the Magistrate ? *' Not in it, 
neither, none ; but the Chief of the Police's house is 
there on the top of the hill ; but ygu will not get in." 

We went there, however, and up the hill toiled, and to 
the door of a sort of spruce-looking lanthorn of a house, 
without tree or shrub near it. But still it might be good 
to sleep in ; and, nothing daunted by the maid's pro- 
phecies and ominous voice, we determined to try our fate. 
Sir Culling got down and rubbed his hands ; while, 
after his man's knocking at the door several times, no one 
came to open it, though through the large drawing-room 
window we saw figures gliding about. At last the door 
half opened by hands unseen, and Sir Culling, pushing 
it wholly open, went in ; and we sat in the carriage, 
waiting as patiently as we could. The figures in black 
and white came to the window, and each had pocket- 
handkerchiefs in their hands or at their eyes. Sir 
CuUing reappeared, ordered the horses to be turned 
about again ; and when he had remounted his barouche- 
seat, which he did with all convenient speed, he informed 
us that a lady had died in this house a few days before 
of cholera ; that she had this day been buried ; that 
under any other circumstances the master and mistress 
would have been happy to receive us, but now it was 
quite impossible, for our sake and their own. The damp, 
broken-windowed hole was preferable ; so back we went. 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 385 

But as we went along the high road, down in the low road 
on the other side of the pond, through the duskiness 
we saw lights in several houses ; and in front of one 
long house which looked whiter than the rest, we stopped 
at an opening in the road where was a path which led to 
the valley beneath, and Sir Culling, who proved in this 
our need an active knight, sallied down to adventure 
another trial ; and in a few minutes after tmmerging 
into this mud castle, and emerging from it, he waved his 
arm over his head in sign of triumph, and made a sign 
to the postilions to turn down into the valley, which 
they did without overturning us ; and to our satisfaction 
we found ourselves housed at Mrs. OTlaherty's, who 
did not keep an inn, observe ; her admitting us, observe, 
depended upon our clearly understanding that she did 
not so demean herself. But she in the season let her house 
as a boarding-house to the quality, who came to Outerard 
to drink the waters or to bathe. So, to oblige us poor 
travellers, without disgrace to the blood and high descent 
of the OTlaherties, she took us in, as we were quality, and 
she turned her two sons out of their rooms and their beds 
for us ; and most comfortably we were lodged. And we 
ate the John Doree we had brought with us, and I thought 
it not worth all the talking about it I had heard ; and for 
the first time in my days or nights, I this night tasted a 
tootnbler of anti-Parliament whiskey, alias poteen, and 
water ; and of all the detestable tastes that ever went 
into my mouth, or smells that ever went under my nose, 
I think this was the worst — literally smoke and fire spirit. 
Isabella observed that she had often drank Innishowon 
and water with dear Agnes and Joanna Baillie. There's 
no disputing about tastes ; therefore, I did not dispute, 
only set down the tumbler, and sip took never more ; 

EI 



386 MARIA EDGEWORTK. 

for I could as soon have drunk the chimney smoking. 
The doors, just opening with a latch, received us into our 
bed-rooms, with good turf fires on the hearth, coved 
ceilings, and presses, and all like bed-rooms in an English 
farm-house more than an Irish ; wonderful comfortable 
for Outerard, after fear of the cholera and the dead 
woman especially. 

Next day, sun shining and a good breakfast, our spirit 
of travelling adventure up within us, we determined that, 
before proceeding on our main adventure into Connemara, 
we would make a little episode to see a wonderful cave in 
the neighbourhood. Our curiosity to see it had been 
excited by the story of the lady and the white trout in 
Lover's Legends. It is called the Pigeon-hole, not the 
least like a pigeon-hole, but it is a subterraneous passage, 
where a stream flows which joins the waters of Lough 
Corrib and Lough Mask. Outerard is on the borders of 
Lough Corrib, and we devoted this day to boating across 
Lough Corrib, to see this famous cavern, which is on the 
opposite side of the lake, and also to see a certain ruined 
monastery. We passed over the lake, admiring its 
beauty and its many islands — ^little bits of islands, of which 
the boatmen tell there are three hundred and sixty-five — 
be the same more or less — one for every day in the year at 
least. We saw the ruins, which were very fine ; but I 
have not time to say more about them. We crossed the 
churchyard and a field or two, and all was as flat, and bare, 
and stony as can be imagined ; and as we were going and 
going farther from the shore of the lake, I wondered how 
and when we were to come to this cavern. The guide 
called me to stop, and I stopped ; and well I did ; 
I was on the brink of the Pigeon-hole — just like an 
unfenced entrance to a deep, deep well. The guide went 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 307 

down before us, and was very welcome ! Down and down 
and down steps almost perpendicular, and as much as my 
little legs could do to reach from one to the other ; darker 
and darker, and there were forty of them I am sure, 
well counted — though certainly I never counted them, but 
was right glad when I felt my feet at the bottom, on terra 
firtna again, even in darkness, and was told to look up, 
and that I had come down sixty feet and more. I looked 
up and saw glimmering light at the top, and as my eyes 
recovered, more and more light through the large fern 
leaves which hung over the opening at top, and the whole 
height above looked like the inside of a limekiln, magnified 
to gigantic dimensions, with lady-fern — it must be lady- 
fern, because of the fairies — and lichens, names unknown, 
hanging from its sides. The light of the sun now stream- 
ing in I saw plainly, and felt why the guide held me fast 
by the arm — I was on the brink of the very narrow 
dark stream of water, which flowed quite silently from 
one side of the cavern to the other ! To that other side, 
my eye following the stream as it flowed, I now looked, 
and saw that the cavern opened under a high archway 
in the rock. How high that was, or how spacious, I 
had not yet light enough to discern. But now there 
appeared from the steps down which we had descended 
an old woman with a light in her hand. Our boy-guide 
hailed her by the name of Madgy Burke. She scrambled 
on a high jut of rock in the cavern ; she had a bundle 
of straw under one arm, and a light flickering in the other 
hand, her grizzled locks streaming, her garments loose 
and tattered, all which became suddenly visible as 
she set fire to a great wisp of straw, and another and 
another she plucked from her bundle and lighted, and 
waved the light above and underneath. It was like a 



388 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

scene in a melodrama of Cavern and Witch — the best 
cavern scene I ever beheld. As she continued to throw 
down, from the height where she stood, the lighted 
bundles of straw, they fell on the surface of the dark 
stream below, and sailed down the current, under the arch 
of the cavern, lighting its roof at the vast opening, and 
looking like tiny* fire-ships, one after another sailing on 
and disappearing. We could not help watching each as 
it blazed, till it vanished. We looked till we were tired, 
then turned and clambered up the steps we had scrambled 
down, and found ourselves again in broad daylight, 
in upper air and on the flat field ; and the illusion was 
over, and there stood, turned into a regular old Irish 
beggar-woman, the Witch of Outerard, and Madgy 
Burke stood confessed, and began to higgle with Sir 
Culling and to flatter the English quality for a sixpence 
more. 

Meanwhile we were to cross Lough Corrib ; and well 
for us that we had the prudence to declare, early in the 
morning, that we would not take a sail-boat, for a sail- 
boat is dangerous in the sudden squalls which rise 
in these mountain regions and on these lakes, very like 
the Swiss lakes for that matter. For instance, on the 
Lake de Lucerne, I have seen sunshine and glassy surface 
change in five minutes to storm and cloud so black and 
thick that Mont Pilate himself could not be discerned 
through it more than if he never stood there in all his 
sublimity. 

Our day had changed, and very rough was the lake ; 
and the boatmen, to comfort us and no doubt amuse 
themselves, as we rose up and down on the billows, told 
us stories of boats that had been lost in these storms, 
and of young Mr. Brown last year, that was drowned 



CONNEMARA : A LE17'ER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 389 

in a boat within view of his brother standing on that 
island, which we were just then to pass. ** And when 
so near he could almost have reached him, you'd have 
thought.'' 

** And why didn't he, then ? " said I. 

** Oh, bless you, ma'am, he couldn't ; for,^' said the 
boatman, dropping his oar, which I did not like at all, 
*' for, mind you ma'am, it was all done in the clap of one's 
hand," and he clapped his hands. 

** Well, take up your oar," cried I ; which he did, and 
rowed amain, and we cleared Brown's Island, and I have 
no more dangers, fancied or other, to tell you ; and after 
two hours' hard rowing, which may give you the measure 
of the width of Lough Corrib at this place, we landed, 
and were right glad to eat Mrs. O'Flaherty's ready 
dinner, Lough Corrib trout — not the White Lady 
trout. 

Sir Culling had intended to pursue his road this 
evening and reach Lough Corrib Lodge to sleep, but 
before we got the first mouthful of dinner into our 
mouths it was stone-dark, whatever kind of darkness 
that is, and we agreed on old George's excellent principle 
to leave it till '' morning, ma'am, if you please." 

So the morning came, and a fine morning still it was ; 
and we set out, leaWng Mrs. O'Flaherty curtseying and 
satisfied. I cannot make out any wonders, or anything 
like an adventure, betvveen Outerard and Corrib Lodge ; 
only the road was rough and the country like the Isle of 
Anglesea, as if stones and fragments of rock had 
showered do\vn on the earth and tracts of bog-heath 
such as England never saw and Scotland seldom sees, 
except in the Highlands. We were only about twice 
the time that Sir Culling had calculated on getting over 



390 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

this part of the road with our powerful Galway horses 
and steady drivers, and, reaching Corrib Lodge, Sir 
Culling said : ** These roads are not so very bad ; we shall 
get on, Miss Edgeworth, very well, you will see." 

Corrib Lodge is a neat, bleak-looking house, which Mr. 
Nimmo built for his own residence when he was overseer 
of the roads, now turned into an inn, kept by his Scotch 
servant, who used to come with him to Edgeworthstown, 
and he gave us bread and butter and milk, and, moreover, 
hare-soup, such as the best London tavern might have 
envied. For observe, that hares abound in these parts, 
and there is no sin in kilHng them, and how the cook 
came to be so good I cannot tell you, but so it certainly 
was. Invigorated and sanguine, we were ready to get 
into the carriage again, purposing to reach Clifden this 
evening — it w^as now three o'clock ; we had got through 
half our thirty-six miles ; no doubt we could easily, 
Sir Culling argued, manage the other half before dark. 
But our wary Scotch host shook his head and observed, 
that if his late master Mr. Nimmo's road was but open 
so we might readily, but Mr. Nimmo's new road was not 
opened, and why, because it was not finished. Only 
one mile or so remained unfinished, and as that one mile 
of unmade, unfinished road was impassable by man, boy, 
or Connemara pony, what availed the new road for 
our heavy carriage and four horses ? There was no 
possibility of going rounds as I proposed ; we must go 
the old road, if road it could be called, all bog and bog- 
holes, as our host explained to us : '* It would be wonder- 
ful if we could get over it, for no carriage had ever passed, 
nor ever thought of attempting to pass, nothing but 
a common car these two years at least, except the Marquis 
of Anglesea and suite, and his Excellency was on horse- 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 39I 

back." As for such a carriage as Sir CuUing's, the Uke, 
as men and boys at the door told us, had never been seen 
in these parts. 

Sir CulHng stood a little daunted. We inquired — I 
particularly, how far it was to Ballinahinch Castle, where 
the Martins live, and which I knew was some miles on this 
side of Clifden. I went into Corrib Lodge and wrote with 
ink on a visiting ticket with '' Miss Edge worth " on it, my 
compliments, and Sir Culling and Lady Smith's, a 
petition for a night's hospitality, to use in case of our 
utmost need. 

The Scotchman could not describe exactly how many 
bad steps there were, but he forewarned us that they were 
bad enough, and as he sometimes changed the words bad 
steps into sloughs^ our Galway postilions looked graver and 
graver, hoped they should get their horses over, but did 
not know ; they had never been this road, never farther 
than Outerard, but they would do all that men and beasts 
could do. 

The first bad step we came to was indeed a slough, but 
only a couple of yards wide across the road. The horses, 
the moment they set their feet upon it, sank up to their 
knees, and were whipped and spurred, and they struggled 
and floundered, and the carriage, as we inside passengers 
felt, sank and sank. Sir Culling was very brave and got 
down to help. The postilions leaped off, and bridles in 
hand gained the shore, and by dint of tugging, and 
whipping, and hallooing, and dragging of men and boys, 
who followed from Corrib Lodge, we were got out and 
were on the other side. 

Farther on we might fare worse from what we could 
learn, so in some commotion we got out and said we would 
rather vvalk. And when we came to the next bad step, 



392 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

the horses, seeing it was a slough like the first, put back 
their ears and absolutely refused to set foot upon it, and 
they were, the postilions agreed, quite right ; so they were 
taken off and left to look on, while by force of arms the 
carriage was to be got over by men and boys, who, shout- 
ing, gathered from all sides, from mountain paths, 
down which they poured, and from fields where they had 
been at work or loitering ; at the sight of the strangers 
they flocked to help — such a carriage had never been seen 
before — to help common cars, or jaunting cars over these 
bad steps they had been used. " This heavy carriage ! 
sure it was impossible, but sure they might do it." And 
they talked and screamed together in English and Irish 
equally unintelligible to us, and in spite of all remon- 
strance about breaking the pole — pole, and wheels, and 
axle, and body, they seized of the carriage, and standing 
and jumping from stone to stone, or any tuft of bog that 
could bear them, as their practised eyes saw ; they, 
I cannot tell you how, dragged, pushed, and screamed 
the carriage over. And Sir Culling got over his way, 
and Lady Smith would not be carried, but leaping and 
assisted by men's arms and shouts, she got to the other 
side. And a great giant, of the name of UUck Burke, 
took me up in his arms as he might a child or a doll, 
and proceeded to carry me over — while I, exceedingly 
frightened and exceedingly civil, and (as even in the 
moment of most danger I could not help thinking and 
laughing within me at the thought) very like Rory 
in his dream on the eagle's back, in his journey to the 
moon, I kept alternately flattering my giant, and praying 
— '* Sir, sir, pray set me down ; do let me down now, 
sir, pray." 

'' Be asy ; be quitCy can't you, dear, and I'll carry you 



CONNEMARA I A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 393 

over to the other side safely, all in good time," floundering 
as he went. 

'* Thank you, sir, thank you. Now, sir, now set me 
down, if you will be so very good, on the bank.'' 

Just as we reached the bank he stumbled and sank 
knee-deep, but threw me, as he would a sack, to shore, and 
the moment I felt mys^4f on terra fir ma ^ I got up and ran 
oflf, and never looked back, trusting that my giant knew 
his own business ; and so he did, and all dirt and bog 
water, was beside me again in a trice. *' Did not I carry 
you over well, my lady ? Oh, it's I am used to it, and 
helped the Lord Anglesea when he was in it." 

So as we walked on^ while the horses were coming over, 
I don't know how, Ulick and a tribe of wild Connemara 
men and boys followed us, all talking at once, and telling 
us there were twenty or thirty such bad steps, one worse 
than another, farther and farther on. It was clear that we 
could not walk all the twelve miles, and the men and Sir 
Culling assuring us that they would get us safe over, and 
that we had better get into the carriage again, and, in 
short, that we must get in, we submitted. 

I confess, Pakenham, I was frightened nearly out of 
my wits. At the next trial Lady Culling Smith was won- 
derfully brave, and laughed when the carriage was hauled 
from side to side, so nearly upset, that how each time it 
escaped I could not tell ; but at last, when down it sank, 
and all the men shouted and screamed, her courage fell, 
and she confessed afterwards she thought it was all over 
wdth us, and that we should never be got out of this bog- 
hole. Yet out we were got ; but how ? what with the 
noise, and what with the fright, far be it from me to tell 
you. But I know I was very angry with a boy for 
laughing in the midst of it ; a little dare-devil of a fellow. 



394 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

as my giant Ulick called him ; I could with pleasure 
have seen him ducked in bog water ! but forgot my anger 
in the pleasure of safe landing, and now I vowed I could 
and would walk the whole ten miles farther, and would a 
thousand times rather. 

My scattered senses and common sense returning, it 
now occurred to me that it would be desirable to avail 
myself of the card I had in my bag, and beg a night's 
lodging at our utmost need. It was still broad dayUght, to 
be sure, and Sir Culling still hoped we should get on to 
Clifden before dark. But I did request he would de- 
spatch one of these gossoons to BaUinahinch Castle with 
my card immediately. It could do no harm, I argued, 
and Lady Smith seconded me with, '* Yes, dear Culling, 
Jo,'' and my dear giant Ulick backed me with, *' Troth, 
you're right enough, ma'am. Troth, sir, it will be dark 
enough soon, and long enough before you're clean over 
them sloughs, farthest on beyant where we can engage 
to see you over. Sure, here's my own boy will run 
with the speed of light with the lady's card." 

I put it into his hand with the promise of half a crown, 
and how he did take to his heels ! 

We walked on, and Ulick, who was a professional wit 
as w^ell as a giant, told us the long-ago tale of Lord Angle- 
sea's visit to Connemara, and how as he walked beside 
his horse this gentleman-lord, as he was, had axed him 
which of his legs he liked best. 

Now Ulick knew right well that one w^as a cork leg, but 
he never let on, as he told us, and pretended the one leg 
was just the same as t'other, and he saw no differ in life, 
" which pleased my lord-lif tenant greatly, and then his 
lordship fell to explaining to me why it was cork, and how 
he lost it in battle, which I knew before as well as he did, 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 395 

for I had larned all about it from Mr. Martin, who was 
expecting him at the castle, but still I never let on, and 
handled the legs one side of the horse and t'other and asy 
found out, and tould him, touching the cork, * sure this 
is the more honourable.' " 

Which observation surely deserved, and I hope ob- 
tained, half a crown. Our way thus beguiled by Ulick's 
Irish wit, we did not for some time feel that we could not 
walk for ever. Lady Culling Smith complained of being 
stiff and tired, and we were compelled to the carriage 
again, and presently heavy dews of evening falling, we 
were advised to let down those fairy-board shutters I de- 
scribed to you, which was done with care and cost of nails. 
I did it at last, and oh ! how I wished it up again when we 
were boxed up, and caged in without the power of seeing 
more than glimpses of our danger — glimpses heightening 
imagination, and, if we were to be overturned, all this 
glass to be broken into our eyes and ears. 

Well ! well ! I will not wear your sympathy and 
patience eighteen times out with the history of the 
eighteen sloughs we went, or were got, through at the 
imminent peril of our lives. Why the carriage was not 
broken to pieces I cannot tell, but an excellent strong 
carriage it was, thank Heaven, and the builder whoever 
he was. 

I should have observed to you that while we yet could 
look about us, we had continually seen, to increase our 
sense of vexation, Nimmo's new road looking like a gravel 
walk running often parallel to our path of danger, and yet 
for want of being finished there it was, useless and most 
tantalising. 

Before it grew quite dark. Sir Culling tapped at our 
dungeon window, and bid us look out at a beautiful place. 



396 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

a paradise in the wilds. *' Look out ? How ? " — 
'' Open the little window at your ear, and this just before 
you— purji the bolt back."—'* But I can't.'* 

With the help of an ivory cutter lever, however, I did 
accomplish it, and saw indeed a beautiful place belonging, 
our giant guide told us, to Dean Mahon, well wooded and 
most striking in this desert. 

It grew dark, and Sir Culling, very brave, walking be- 
side the carriage when we came to the next bad step, sank 
above his knees ; how they dragged him out I could not 
see, and there were we in the carriage stuck fast in a 
slough, which, we were told, was the last but one before 
Ballinahinch Castle, when my eyes were blessed with a 
twinkling light in the distance — a boy with a lantern. 
And when breathless, he panted up to the side of the 
carriage and thrust up lantern and note (we still in the 
slough), how glad I was to see him and it ! and to hear 
him say, " Then Mr. Martin's very unaasy about yees — 
so he is." 

" I am very glad of it — ^very glad indeed," said I. 
The note in a nice lady's hand from Mrs. Martin greeted 
us with the assurance that Miss Edgeworth and her 
English friends should be welcome at Ballinahinch 
Castle. 

Then from our mob another shout ! another heave ! 
another drag, and another Uft by the spokes of the wheels. 

Oh ! if they had broken ! but they did not, and we 

were absolutely out of this slough. I spare you the next 
and last, and then we wound round the Lake-road in the 
dark, on the edge of Ballinahinch lake, on Mr. Martin's 
new road, as our dear giant told us, and I thought we 
should never get to the house, but at last we saw a 
chimney on fire, at least myriads of sparks and spouts 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 397 

of flame, but before we reached it, it abated, and we 
came to the door without seeing what manner of house 
or castle it might be, till the hall door opened and a butler 
— half an angel he appeared to us — appeared at the door. 
But then in the midst of our impatience I was to let down 
and buckle up these fairy boards — at last swinging and 
slipping it was accomplished, and out we got, but with 
my foot still on the step we all called out to tell the butler 
we were afraid some chimney was on fire. Without 
deigning even to look up at the chimney, he smiled and 
motioned us the way we should go. He was, as we saw 
at first view, and found afterwards, the most imperturb- 
able of men. 

And now that we are safely housed, and housed in a 
castle too, I will leave you, my dear Pakenham, for the 
present. 

March 12. 

What became of the chimney on fire, I cannot tell — the 
Imperturbable was probably right in never minding it ; 
he was used to its ways of burning out, and being no more 
thought of. 

He showed us into a drawing-room, where we saw by 
firelight a lady alone — Mrs. Martin, tall and thin, in deep 
mourning. Though by that light, but dimly visible, 
and by our eyes dazed as they were just coming out of 
the dark, but imperfectly seen, yet we could not doubt 
at first sight that she was a lady in the highest sense of 
the word, perfectly a gentlewoman. And her whole 
manner of receiving us, and the ease of her motions, 
and of her conversation, in a few moments convinced me 
that she must at some time of her life have been accus- 
tomed to live in the best society — the best society in 
Ireland ; for it was evident from her accent that she was a 



398 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

native — high-life Dublin tone of about forty years ago. 
The curls on her forehead, mixed with gray, prematurely 
gray, like your mother's, much older than the rest of her 
person. 

She put us at ease at once, by beginning to talk to us, 
as if she was v/ell acquainted with my family — and so she 
was from William, who had prepossessed her in our 
favour, yet she did not then allude to him, though I could 
not but understand what she meant to convey — I liked 
her. ^ 

Then came in, still by firelight, from a door at the 
farther end of the room, a young lady, elegantly dressed 
in deep mourning. " My daughter — ^Lady Culling 
Smith — Miss Edge worth " ; slight figure, head held up 
and thrown back. She had the resolution to come to 
the very middle of the room and make a deliberate and 
profound curtsey, which a dancing-master of Paris 
would have approved ; seated herself upon the sofa, 
and seemed as if she never intended to speak. Mrs. 
Martin showed us up to our rooms, begging us not to 
dress unless we liked it before dinner ; and we did not 
like it, for we were very much tired, and it was now be- 
tween eight and nine o'clock. Bedchambers spacious. 
Dinner, we were told, was ready whenever we pleased, 
and, well pleased, down we went ; found Mr. Martin 
in the drawing-room — a large Connemara gentleman, 
white, massive face ; a stoop forward in his neck, the con- 
sequence of a shot in the Peninsular War. 

** Well ! will you come to dinner ? dinner's ready. 
Lady Culling Smith, take my arm ; Sir CulUng, Miss 
Edgeworth." 

A fine large dining-room, and standing at the end of the 
table an odd-looking person, below the middle height, 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENKAM EDGEWORTH. 399 

youngish, but the top and back of his head perfectly bald, 
like a bird's skull, and at each temple a thick bunch of 
carroty red curly hair, thick red whiskers and light blue 
eyes, very fair skin and carnation colour. He wore a long 
green coat, and some abominable coloured thing round his 
throat, and a look as if he could not look at you, and 
would. I wondered what was to become of this man, and 
he looked as if he wondered too. But Mr. Martin, 
turning abruptly, said, *' M^Hugh ! where are you, 
man ? M'Hugh, sit down man, here ! " 

And M'Hugh sat down. I afterwards found he was an 
essential person in the family : M*Hugh here, M*Hugh 
there ; very active, acute, and ready, and bashful, a dare- 
devil kind of man, that would ride, and boat, and shoot in 
any weather, and would at any moment hazard his life 
to save a fellow-creature's. Miss Martin sat opposite 
to me, and with the light of branches of wax candles 
full upon her, I saw that she was very young, about 
seventeen, very fair, hair which might be called red by 
rivals and auburn by friends, her eyes blue-gray, pro- 
minent, like pictures I have seen by Leonardo da Vinci. 

But Miss Martin must not make me forget the dinner, 
and such a dinner ! London bon vivants might have 
blessed themselves ! Venison such as Sir Culling 
declared could not be found in England, except from one 
or two immense parks of noblemen favoured above their 
peers ; salmon, lobsters, oysters, game, all well cooked 
and well served, and well placed upon the table ; nothing 
loaded, all in good taste, as well as to the taste ; wines, 
such as I was not worthy of, but Sir Culling knew how to 
praise them ; champagne and all manner of French 
wines. 

In spite of a very windy night, I slept admirably well. 



400 MARIA EDGEWORTrt. 

and wakened with great curiosity to see what manner of 
place we were in. From the front windows of my room, 
which was over the drawing-room, I looked down a 
sudden slope to the only trees that could be seen, far or 
near, and only on the tops of them. From the side 
window a magnificent but desolate prospect of an im- 
mense lake and bare mountains. 

When I went down, and to the hall door at which we 
had entered the night before, I was surprised to see neither 
mountains, lake, nor river — all flat as a pancake — a wild, 
boundless sort of common, with showers of stones ; no 
avenue or regular approach, no human habitation within 
view ; and when I walked up the road and turned to look 
at the castle, nothing could be less like a castle. From the 
drawing I send you (who it was done by I will tell you by 
and by), you would imagine it a real castle, bosomed high 
in trees. Such flatterers as those portrait-painters of 
places are ! And yet it is all true enough, if you see it 
from the right point of view. Much I wished to see more 
of the inhabitants of this castle, but we were to pursue 
our way to Clifden this day ; and with these thoughts 
balancing in my mind of wish to stay, and ought to go, 
I went to breakfast — coffee, tea, hot rolls, ham, all 
luxuries. 

Isabella did not make her appearance, but this I 
accounted for by her having been much tired. She had 
complained of rheumatic pains, but I had thought no more 
about them. Little was I aware of all that was to be. 
** L'homme propose : Dieu dispose." Lady CulHng 
Smith at last appeared, hobbling, looking in torture, 
leaning on her husband's arm, and trying to smile on our 
hospitable hosts, all standing up to receive her. Never 
did I see a human creature in the course of one night so 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 4OI 

changed. When she was to sit down, it was impossible ; 
she could not bend her knees, and fell back in Sir CuUing's 
arms. He was excessively frightened. His large power- 
ful host carried her upstairs, and she was put to bed by her 
thin, scared-looking, but excellent and helpful maid ; and 
this was the beginning of an illness which lasted above 
three weeks. Little did we think, however, at the begin- 
ning how bad it would be. We thought it only rheuma- 
tism, and I wrote to Honora that we should be detained 
a few days longer — from day to day put off. Lady 
Culling Smith grew alarmingly ill. There was only one 
half-fledged doctor at Clifden ; the Martins disliked him, 
but he was sent for, and a puppy he proved, thinking 
of nothing but his own shirt-buttons and fine curled hair. 
Isabella grew worse and worse — fainting fits ; and Mrs. 
and Miss Martin, both accustomed to prescribe for the 
country-people in want of all medical advice in these 
lone regions, went to their pharmacopoeias and medicine- 
chest, and prescribed various strong remedies, and ran 
up and down stairs, but could not settle what the patient's 
disease was, whether gout or rheumatism ; and these 
required quite different treatment ; hands and lips were 
swelled and inflamed, but not enough to say it was 
positively gout ; then there was fear of drawing the gout 
to the stomach, and if it was not gout ! — All was terror 
and confusion ; and poor Sir Culling, excessively fond 
of Isabella, stood in tears beside her bed. He had sat 
up two nights with her, and was now seized with asthmatic 
spasms himself in his chest. It was one of the worst 
nights you can imagine, blowing a storm and raining 
cats and dogs. Mr. and Mrs. Martin and Sir CuUing 
thought Lady Smith so dangerously ill that it was neces- 
sary to send a man on horseback thirty miles to Outerard 

FI 



402 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

for a physician ; and who could be sent such a night ? — 
one of the Galway postilions on one of the post-horses 
(you will understand that we were obliged to keep these 
horses and postilions at Ballinahinch, as no other horses 
could be procured). The postilion was to be knocked upy 
and Sir Culling and Mr. Martin went to some den to 
waken him. 

Meanwhile I was standing alone, very sorrowful, on the 
hearth in the great drawing-room, waiting to hear how it 
could be managed, when in came Mr. M*Hugh, and 
coming quite close up to me, said, ** Them Galway boys 
will not know the way across the bogs as I should ; Fd be 
at Outerard in half the time. V\\ go, if they'll let me, and 
with all the pleasure in life." 

" Such a nignt as this ! Oh no, Mr. M*Hugh ! " 

" Oh yes ; why not ? " said he. And this good- 
hearted, wild creature would have gone that instant, 
if we would have let him ! 

However, we would not, and he gave instructions to 
the Galway boy how to keep clear of the sloughs and bog- 
holes ; observing to me that " them stranger horses are 
good for little in Connemara — nothing like a Connemara 
pony for that ! " As Ulick Burke said, " The ponies are 
such knowing little creatures, when they come to a slough 
they know they'd sink in, and their legs of no use to them, 
they lie down till the men that can stand drag them over 
with their legs kneeling under them." 

The Galway boy got safe to Outerard, and next morn- 
ing brought back Dr. Davis, a very clever, agreeable man, 
who had had a great deal of experience, having begun life 
as an army surgeon ; at any rate, he was not thinking 
of himself, but of his patient. He thought Isabella 
dangerously ill — unsettled gout. I will not tire you with 



CONNEMARA I A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 403 

all the history of her illness, and all our terrors ; but never 
would I have left home on this odd journey if I could 
have foreseen this illness. I cannot give you an idea of 
my loneHness of feeling, my utter helplessness, from the 
impossibility of having the advantage of the sympathy 
and sense of any of my owti family. We had not, for one 
whole week, the comfort of even any one letter from any 
of our distant friends. We had expected to be by this 
time at Castlebar, and we had desired Honora to direct 
our letters there. Sir Culling with great spirit sent a 
Connemara messenger fifty miles to Castlebar for the 
letters, and when he came back he brought but one ! 

No mail-coach road comes near here ; no man on 
horesback could undertake to carry the letters regularly. 
They are carried three times a week from Outerard to 
Clifden, thirty-six miles, by three gossoons, or more 
properly bog-trotters, and very hard work it is for them. 
One runs a day and a night, and then sleeps a day and a 
night, and then another takes his turn ; and each of these 
boys has 3^15 a year. I remember seeing one of these 
postboys leaving Ballinahinch Castle, with his leather bag 
on his back, across the heath and across the bog, leaping 
every now and then, and running so fast ! his bare, white 
legs thrown up among the brown heath. These postboys 
were persons of the greatest consequence to us ; they 
brought us news from home, and to poor Lady Culling 
Smith accounts of her baby, and of her friends in England. 
We began to think we should never see any of them again. 

I catinot with sufficient gratitude describe to you the 
hospitality and unvaried kindness of Mr. and Mrs. 
Martin during all these trials. Mr. Martin, rough 
man as he seemed outside, was all soft and tender within, 
and so very considerate for the English servants. Mrs. 



404 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Martin told me that he said to her, " I am afraid that 
English man and maid must be very uncomfortable here 
— so many things to which they have been used, which 
we have not for them ! Now we have no beer, you know, 
my dear, and English servants are always used to beer.'* 
So Mr. Martin gave them cider instead, and every day he 
took to each of them himself a glass of excellent port 
wine ; and to Isabella, as gout-cordial, he gave Bronte, 
the finest. Sir Culling said, he ever tasted. And never 
all the time did Mr. and Mrs. Martin omit anything it was 
in their power to do to make us comfortable, and to 
relieve us from the dreadful feeling of being burthensome 
and horrible intruders ! They did succeed in putting 
me completely at ease, as far as they were concerned. 
I do not think I could have got through all the anxiety 
I felt during Lady Culling Smith's illness, and away from 
all my own people, and waiting so shockingly long for 
letters, if it had not been for the kindness of Mrs. Martin, 
and the great fondness I soon felt for her. She is not 
literary ; she is very religious — ^what would be called 
very goody and yet she suited me, and I grew very fond 
of her, and she of me. Little things that I could feel 
better than describe inclined me to her, and our minds 
were open to one another from the first day. Once, 
towards the end, I believe, of the first week, when I began 
some sentence with an apology for some liberty I was 
taking, she put her hand upon my arm, and with a kind, 
reproachful look exclaimed, " Liberty ! I thought we 
were past that long since ; are not we ? " 

Miss Martin — though few books beyond an Edinburgh 
or Quarterly Review or two appeared in the sitting-room 
— has books in quantities in a closet in her own room, 
M^hich is within her mother's ; and ** every morning," 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 405 

said Mrs. Martin, ** she comes in to me while I am 
dressing, and pours out upon me an inundation of learn- 
ing, fresh and fresh, all she has been reading for hours 
before I am up. Mary has read prodigiously." 

I found Mary one of the most extraordinary persons I 
ever saw. Her acquirements are indeed prodigious ; she 
has more knowledge of books, both scientific and learned, 
than any female creature I ever saw or heard of at her 
age — heraldry, metaphysics, painting and painters' lives, 
and tactics ; she had a course of fortification from a 
French officer, and of engineering from Mr. Nimmo. 
She understands Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and I don't 
know how many modern languages. French she speaks 
perfectly, learned from the French officer who taught her 
fortification, M. Du Bois, who was one of Buonaparte's 
legion of honour, and when the Emperor was ousted, fled 
from France, and earned his bread at BalUnahinch by 
teaching French, which Miss Martin talks as if she had 
been a native, but not as if she had been in good Parisian 
society ; with an odd mixture of a ton de garnison which 
might be expected from a pupil of one of Buonaparte's 
officers. She imbibed from him such an admiration, 
such an enthusiasm for Buonaparte, that she cannot bear 
a word said to his disparagement ; and when Sir Culling 
sometimes off^ended in that way. Miss Martin's face and 
neck grew carnation colour, and down to the tips of her 
fingers she blushed with indignation. 

Her father the while smiled and winked at me. The 
father as well as the mother dote upon her ; and he has 
a softened way of always calling her ** my child " that 
interested me for both. ** My child, never mind ; what 
signifies about Buonaparte ? " 

One morning we went with Miss Martin to see the fine 



4o6 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

green Connemara marble-quarries. Several of the com- 
mon people gatliered round while we were looking at the 
huge blocks ; these people Miss Martin called lier tail. 
Sir Culling wished to obtain an answer to a question 
from some of tliese people, which he desired Miss Martin 
to ask for him, being conscious that, in his English tone, it 
would be unintelligible. When the question had been put 
and answered, Sir Culling objected : " But, Miss Martin, 
you did not put the question exactly as I requested you 
to state it." 

" No," said she, with colour raised and head thrown 
back, " no, because I knew how to put it so that 
my people could understand it. Je sais mon metier de 
reine'' 

This trait gives you an idea of her character and 
manner, and of the astonishment of Sir Culling at her 
want of sympathy with his really liberal and philan- 
thropic views for Ireland, while she is full of her tail, her 
father's fifty-miles-long avenue, and ^schylus and 
Euripides, in which she is admirably well read. Do 
think of a girl of seventeen in the wilds of Connemara 
intimately acquainted with all the beauties of ^Eschylus 
and Euripides, and having them as part of her daily 
thoughts ! 

There are immense caves on this coast which were the 
free-traders' resort, and would have been worth any 
money to Sir Walter. " Quite a scene and a country 
for him," as Miss Martin one day observed to me ; 
'' don't you think your friend Sir Walter Scott would 
have Uked our people and our country ? " 

It is not exactly a feudal state, but the tail of a feudal 
state. Dick Martin, father of the present man, was not 
only lord of all he surveyed, but lord of all the lives 



CONNEMARA : A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 407 

of the people ; now the laws of the land have come in, 
and rival proprietors have sprung up in rival castles. 
Hundreds would still, I am sure, start out of t^eir bogs 
for Mr. Martin, but he is called Mister, and the prestige 
is over. The people in Connemara were all very quiet 
and submissive till some refugee Terry-alts took asylum 
in these bog and mountain fastnesses. They spread their 
principles, and soon the clan combined against their chief, 
and formed a plan of seizing Ballinahinch Castle, and 
driving him and all the Protestant gentry out of the 
country. Mr. Martin is a man of desperate courage, 
some skill as an officer, and prodigious bodily strength, 
which altogether stood him in stead in time of great 
danger. I cannot tell you the whole long story, but I 
will mention one anecdote vv^bich will show you how 
like the stories in Walter Scott are the scenes that have 
been lately passing in Connemara. Mr. Martin sum- 
moned one of his own followers, who had, he knew, 
joined the Terry-alts, to give up a gun lent to him in 
days of trust and favour ; no answer to the summons. 
A second, a third summons ; no effect. Mr. Martin 
then warned the man that if he did not produce the gun 
at the next sessions he would come and seize it. The 
man appeared at the house where Mr. Martin holds his 
sessions — about the size of Lovell's school-room, and 
always fuller than it can hold ; Mr. Martin espied from 
his end of the room his friend with the gun, a power- 
fully strong man, who held bis way on, and stood full 
before him. 

*' You sent for my gun, your honour, did you ? " 
'* I did — three times ; it is well you have brought it 
at last ; give it to me." 

The man kneeled down on one knee, and putting tlic 



408 MARIA EDGEVVORTH. 

gun across the other knee, broke it asunder, and throwing 
the pieces to Mr. Martin, cried, ** There it is for you. I 
swore that was the only way you should ever have it, 
dead or live. You have warned me, and now I warn 
you ; take care of yourself 

He strode out of the crowd. But he was afterwards 
convicted of Terry-alt practices and transported. Now 
all is perfectly quiet, and Mr. Martin goes on doing 
justice in his own peculiar fashion every week. When 
the noise, heat, and crowd in his sessions court become 
beyond all bearing, he roars with his stentorian voice 
to clear the court ; and if that be not done forthwith, 
he with his own two Herculean arms seizes the loudest 
two disputants, knocks their heads together, thrusts 
them bawling as they go out of the door and flings them 
asunder. 

In his own house there never was a more gentle, 
hospitable, good-natured man, I must say again and again, 
or else I should be a very ungrateful woman. 

Miss Martin has three ponies, which she has brought 
every day to the great Wyatt window of the library, where 
she feeds them with potatoes. One of them is very 
passionate ; and once the potato being withheld a moment 
too long at the hall door he fell into a rage, pushed in 
at the door after her, and she ran for her life, got upstairs 
and was safe. 

I asked what he would have done if he had come up 
to her ? 

" Set his two feet on my shoulders, thrown me down, 
and trampled upon me." 

The other day the smith hurt his foot in shoeing him, 
and up he reared, and up jumped the smith on the raised 
part of his forge — the pony jumped after him, and if the 



CONNEMARA : A LETTEP TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 409 

smith had not scrambled behind his bellows, ** would 
have killed him to be sure.'* 

After hearing this I declined riding this pony, though 
Miss Martin pressed me much, and assured me he was as 
quiet as a lamb — provided I would never strike him or 
look cross. Once she got me up on his back, but I looked 
so miserable, she took me down again. She described 
to me her nursing of one of these ponies ; ** he used to 
stand with his head over my shoulder while I rubbed 
his nose for an hour together ; but I suppose I must 
throw off these Bedouin habits before I go to London." 

All this time poor Isabella has been left by me in tor- 
ture in her bed. At the end of three weeks she was pro- 
nounced out of danger, and in spite of the kind remon- 
stances of our hospitable hosts, not tired of the sick or the 
well, on a very wet odious day away we went. As there 
are no inns or place where an invalid could pass the night, 
I wrote to beg a night's lodging at Renvyle, Mr. Blake's. 
He and Mrs. Blake, who wrote Letters from the Irish 
Highlands, were not at home, in Galway on a visit, but 
they answered most politely that they begged me to 
consider their house as my own, and wrote to their agent 
who was at Renvyle to receive us. 

Captain Bushby, of the Water Guard — married to a 
niece of Joanna Baillie's — was very kind in accompanying 
us on our first day's journey. ** I must see you safe out,^ 
said he. ** Safe out " is the common elision for safe out 
of Connemara. And really it was no easy matter to get us 
safe out ; but I spare you a repetition of sloughs ; we 
safely readied Renvyle, where the agent received us in a 
most comfortable, well-furnished, well-carpeted, well- 
lighted library, filled with books — excellent dinmg-room 
beyond, and here Lady Smith had a day's rest, without 



4IO MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

which she could not have proceeded, and well for her she 
had such a comfortable resting-place. 

Next day we got into Joyce's Country, and had hot 
potatoes and cold milk, and Renvyle cold fowl at The 
Lodge, as it is styled, of Big Jacky Joyce — one of the 
descendants of the ancient proprietors, and quite an 
original Irish character. He had heard my name often, 
he said, from Mr. Nimmo, and knew I was a writing lady, 
and a friend to Ireland, and he was civil to me, and I was 
civil to him, and after eyeing Sir CuUing and Lady Smith, 
and thinking, I saw, that she was affecting to be languish- 
ing» and then perceiving that she was really weak and ill, 
he became cordial to the whole party , and entertained us 
for two hours, which we were obliged to wait for the 
going out of the tide before we could cross the sands. 
Here was an arm of the sea., across which Mr, Nimmo 
had been employed to build a bridge, and against Big 
Jack Joyce's advice, he would build it where Jack pro- 
phesied it would be swept away in the winter, and twice 
the bridge was built, and twice it was swept away, and still 
Nimmo said it was the fault of the masons ; the embank- 
ment and his theory could not be wrongs and a third time 
he built the bridge, and there we saw the ruins of it on 
the sands — all the embankments swept away, and all 
we had for it was to be dragged over the sand by men — 
the horses taken off. We were pushed down into a gully- 
hole five feet deep, and thence pulled up again ; how 
it was I cannot tell you, for I shut my eyes and resigned 
myself, gave up my soul, and was much surprised to find 
it in my body at the end of the operation ; Big Jacky 
Joyce and his merry men having somehow managed it. 

There was an end of our perils by gullies, sloughs, and 
bog-holes. We now got on Mr. Nimmo's and Mr. 



CONNEMARA ; A LETTER TO PAKENHAM EDGEWORTH. 4II 

Killalla's really good roads, and now our four horses 
began to tell, and that night we reached Westport ; and, 
in consequence of Mrs. Martinis introduction to her 
friend Lord Sligo, were received by him and Lady SHgo 
most courteously. 

Westport is a beautiful place, with a town, ^ port, 
industrious people all happy, and made so by the sense 
and energy of a good landlord and a good agent. We 
regretted that we could stay only this night and the next 
morning to breakfast ; it was so delightful and extra- 
ordinary to us again to see trees and shubberies. and 
to find ourselves again in the midst of flowers from green- 
house and conservatory. 

But now that it is all over, and 1 can balance pains and 
pleasures, I declare that, upon the whole, I had more 
pleasure than pam from this journey ; the perils of the 
road were far overbalanced by the diversion of seeing 
the people, and the seeing so many to me perfectly new 
characters and modes of living. The anxiety of Isa- 
bella's illness J terrible as it was, and the fear of being 
ill myself and a burthen upon their hands, and even 
the horrid sense of remoteness and impossibility of 
communication with my own friends, were altogether 
overbalanced by the extraordinary kindness, and tender- 
ness, and generous hospitality of the Martins. It will 
do my heart good all the days of my life to have experi- 
enced such kindness, and to have seen so much good in 
human nature as I saw with them — red M'Hugli included. 
I am sure I have a friend in Mrs. Martin ; it is an extra- 
ordmary odd feeling to have made a friend at sixty-six 
years of age \ You, my dear Pakenham, can't under- 
stand this ^ but you will live, I hope, to understand it, 
and perhaps to say, ' Now I begin to comprehend what 



412 MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

Maria, poor old soul ! meant by that odd feeling at the 
end of her Connemara journey." 

When we were regretting to Lord Sllgo that we had 
missed seeing so many persons and places on our tour 
whom we had at first setting out made it our object to 
see — Clifden, the Barony of Erris, and the wonderful 
Major Bingham — Lord Sligo comforted us by saying, 
" Depend upon it, you have seen more really of Conne- 
mara than any strangers who have ever travelled through 
it, exactly because you remained in one place and in 
one family, where you had time to see the habits of the 
people, and to see them nearly and familiarly, and 
without their being shown off, or thinking of showing 
themselves off to you." 



WORKS OF MARIA EDGEWORTH. 4x3 



WORKS OF MARIA EDGEWORTH. 
Born 1767, Died 1849. 



1795. Letters to Literary Ladies. 

1796. The Parent's Assistant. 

1798. * Essays on Practical Education. 

1800. Castle Rackrent. 

1801. Early Lessons (including " Harry and Lucy "). 
Belinda. 

Moral Tales for Young People. 

1802. * Essay on Irish Bulls. 

Popular Tales (including ** Rosanna " and ** The 
Limerick Gloves ''). 

1805. The Modern Griselda. 

1806. Leonora. 

1808. *0n Professional Education. 

1809. Tales from Fashionable Life, First Series 

(including " Ennui "). 

181 2. Tales from Fashionable Life, Second Series 
(including " The Absentee "). 

* The asterisk denotes books written in collaboration with her 
father. " On Professional Education " was published under his 
name, but she wrote parts of the book. The first volume of the 
" Memoirs " is an autobiography, stopping at 1782, the second a 
continuation by Maria. 



414 WORKS OF MARIA EDGEWORTH. 

1814. Patronage. 

181 5. Early Lessons, continued. 
1817. Ormond. 

Harrington. 

Comic Dramas (including ** Love and Law '"). 

1820. Memoirs of Richard Lovell Edgeworth. 

1822. Early Lessons, concluded- 

1825. Harry and Lucy, concluded. 

[Collected Edition of Tales and Miscellaneous 
Pieces], 

1834. Helen. 

1847, Orlandino 



LIST OF AUTHORITIES. 415 



AUTHORITIES CONSULTED * IN THE 
PREPARATION OF THIS VOLUME. 



Frances Edgeworth (widow of Richard Lovell Edge- 
worth) — ^A Memoir of Maria Edgeworth, with a 
Selection from her Letters. 3 vols. London. 
1867. (Privately printed.) 

Mr. and Mrs, S. C» Hall. — Ireland : Its Scenery, 
Character, etc. London, 1841-1843. (See chapter 
on County Longford in VoL 3.)) 

Memoirs of Authors of the Age ^ Maria Edgeworth. 
(" The Art Journal " London. July, 1849.) 

Grace A, Oliver. — A Study of Maria Edgeworth, with 
Notices of her Father and Friends. Boston, 1882. 

Helen Zimmern. — Maria Edgeworth (** Eminent 
Women "). London. 1883. 

* Note. — ^This list is not, of course <» (SompTete bibliagrapby. 
Some other reference* to Maria EdgewortJi have been cited in <he 
Introduction to the. present volumf Thert have been iwsvera) 
biographical notes m reprints oj Miss Edgeworth * w^jUs. but none 
others so full as those by Lady Ritchie. Early uumbera «*■ the 
" Edinburgh " and " Quarterly ' Reviews contain many notices 
of Miss Edgeworth's books. Professor Saintsbury ^ essay m Vol X l, 
of the Cambridge History of EngHsh Literature ha^ been cited in 
the Introduction : the bibliography attached is strangely imperfect, 
omitting, for instance, the life by Miss Lawless, Various Memoirs 
and Biographies, notably Lockhart » ' Scott " and Sir George 
Trevelyan's " MacauUy '* givfc inttt'^btinij tt:t«tenc«i© to Maria 
Edgeworth. 



41 6 LIST OF AUTHORITIES. 

Lady Ritchie (Anne Thackeray). — A Book of Sibyls. 
London. 1883. 

Introductions to '* Castle Rackrent '* and other 
stories. London. 1895- 1896. 

Sir Leslie Stephen. — Maria Edgeworth. Richard 
Lovell Edgeworth. (Notices in '' Dictionary of 
National Biography." London. 1888.) 

W. B. Yeats. — Representative Irish Tales. New York 
and London. 1890. 

Augustus J. C. Hare. — The Life and Letters of Maria 
Edgeworth. 2 vols. London. 1894. 

The Honble. Mrs. Lionel Tollemache. — Richard 
Lovell Edgeworth. London. 1896. 

Walter Herries Pollock. — Jane Austen, Her Contem- 
poraries and Herself. London. 1899. 

Mary Hayden. — Maria Edgeworth. (Journal of 
National Literary Society of Ireland.) Dublin. 
1900. 

Horatio Sheafe Krans. — Irish Life in Irish Fiction. 
New York. 1903. 

Charles A. Read. — The Cabinet of Irish Literature- 
Second edition, edited by Katharine Tynan Hinkson- 
London. 1903. 

The Honble. Emily Law^less. — Maria Edgeworth. 
( " English Men of Letters "). London. 1904. 

D. J. O'DoNOGHUE. — Sir Walter Scott's Tour in Ireland. 
Dublin. 1905. 

Constance Hill. — Maria Edgeworth and her Circle in 
the Days of Buonaparte and Bourbon. London. 
1910. 









Jil! 



ijiii 



(i!i 






«iii 



m 



lillilpilll 



I ii 



lijil 



llill 



BillN" 



wm 



lliili 



